


The Lady and the Laborer

by KonstantineXIII



Series: Meeting Again [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, Fast and lovely, G!P, Girl Penis Lexa, It's slow and cute, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Renaissance Era, Royalty, Sex, Then brief and sad, Vineyard, and finally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:29:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KonstantineXIII/pseuds/KonstantineXIII
Summary: “Clarke,” her eyes burned, and the Lady felt her heart tattoo wildly, so fierce was her love for this beautiful, blazing woman, “Clarke, I do not have many things,” she started softly, “But what I own wholly is my heart. And I would be happiest in the world if you were to guard it, for it has long belonged to you. I swear to you upon Mother Earth and all who stand upon her; I am yours. However you may need me,”Clarke looked upon her with sparkling eyes, her smile too wide to contain, “Lexa,” she laughed through her tears, “I need you to get off the floor and kiss me,”Lexa did.-"I write these stories now to preserve for as long as possible, the memory of my beloved parents. My sisters and I grew to womanhood with love and gentleness bred into our hearts, and our nation grew to be the most prosperous in the world.All because the Lady loved the Laborer, and the Laborer loved her back."





	The Lady and the Laborer

**Again, I don't have a beta. Kindly step over the plot holes, and enjoy the ride. Good luck with this monster.**

* * *

 

 

Clarke cursed.

An unbecoming pastime for the future Duchess of Arkadia, but what else was one to do as they ran away from their own castle in the middle of the night? True enough, she could have waited for dawn and been escorted as a usual holiday would be conducted, but the Lady had felt a terrible urge for freedom.

So it was that she strapped a case with full of clothes and an oil lamp to her most beloved stallion’s saddle, and took off. She wasn’t sure how far she went, the hours blurring past faster than the shapeless rows of farms on either side of her path.

She mourned slightly, the sight of her beautiful countryside in the day, but pressed on. Something she later reflected may have been a mistake, as she had suddenly found herself confident of the road ahead in directing her stallion forward, only to find herself plummeting to the Earth.

Her steed whinnied in alarm and fear as he refused to fall into the dead end’s drop off, throwing Clarke in the process. Rolling as she hit the ground, she watched as the enormous beast reared up on his hind legs, her lantern and case dropping to the ground. Horrified, the case burst open at the exact moment the lantern broke, and sparked fire onto the ground.

“No!”

Quickly, the flame spread up the trunk of some kind of small tree on the farm and leapt to its branch-twined neighbor. Clarke gasped and lurched into action. Quickly grabbing a bolt of cloth from the ground, she threw it over the flame on the tree, and it thankfully suffocated and died.

She panted and kept working, heart racing. All of her clothes were blackened and burnt by the time she had snuffed out all but the last burning tree of the neat row and she was breathing raggedly as she panicked, out of dresses and shirts. Still, the flames licked and cracked, greedy and impatient. Clarke didn’t think, reaching to unlace her simple traveling gown. She shimmied out of it and urgently used the skirt and bodice to tamp out the last of the flames.

Finally, they were out, and she was plunged into darkness. In nothing but her chemise, she breathed deeply. Her horse was gone, but the moon was just full enough for her to spot a cottage’s lit window further in from the field.

A walk later, and she stood in front of a modest home, made of stone and mortar. Built clearly for a small family, she breathed deeply, stepped under the rain awning, and knocked on the wooden door.

An instant later, the door opened and the light of a dying fire made the home glow behind a glowering girl. Clarke stumbled, taking the stranger in.

She was beautiful. All her life, Clarke had been surrounded by royalty and aristocrats, but none had been so regal as this girl. Cheekbones almost as high as the proverbial horse she seemed to stand on, her hair seemed auburn, no, chestnut, and curled beautifully. Her eyes were too dark to see, but Clarke knew they were irritated.

“I’m sorry,” she said after the girl hadn’t moved, “I- I was riding and my horse, Elizabeth, got scared and threw me, but the lantern I was carrying,” she grimaced, “It set fire to a portion of your crop. I’m sorry,”

The girl’s eyes grew wider as she looked over Clarke’s head to her land before the blonde carried on, “I put it out as quickly as I could. That’s actually why I’m,” she gestured to her current state of undress, and she almost sighed at her own breast, straining against the valiant light corset.

“But I haven’t anywhere to go, and I need a place to rest until my horse finds me,” she wrung her hands together, “I swear it, I can pay you back for your lost profits,”

The girl looked unimpressed, her jaw flexing as she stared at Clarke.

“I know that sounds like a lie, but truly, I’m Clarke Abigail Griffiths, the only heir to Jacob Griffiths, Duke of Arkadia,”

“I know who you are,” the stoic girl said quietly.

“Oh,”

Clarke paused, all of her momentum gone. She simply waited for judgment from this silent girl. After a while of scrutiny and distant sound of a crackling fire, she spoke once more.

“It is customary to work for one’s debts around here, Lady Clarke,”

The blonde stiffened momentarily, then nodded.

“Will my undergarments suffice? I’m afraid I burnt all my other clothes,”

The girl, taller than Clarke by nearly a full head, simply watched her, a strange look ghosting over her features. She seemed to ponder her response, then spoke carefully in what Clarke detected as lightly accented Arkadian.

“We may discuss more in the morning, my Lady. For now, rest here,” she stepped back, and opened the door wider for Clarke to enter. The blonde nodded gratefully to this strange, stoic girl.

Inside, the house was warm, dry, and neat. The fire was just beginning to die, and shelves lines the walls, filled with dried goods and other things. Sparely furnished, a table with two chairs wedged into a corner, with a chest of drawers next to a large, low, pile of what looked like furs. But what impressed Clarke was the amount of books on the shelves.

“My name is Lexa,” the girl said, the cadence of her voice subtle and calm, “You would do well not to reveal your identity to many, my Lady, there are those who would keep you for ransom,”

Clarke considered the girl, a smile tugging at her lips. For some reason, she trusted her completely. Standing tall, but somehow, she seemed tense.

“And how am I to trust you do not have similar desires?”

Lexa turned her eyes fully upon Clarke’s, and there was a strong sort of blankness in the look there as she stiffly replied, “Of any person’s trust to consider, it is yours, my Lady Vine-Burner,”

Clarke’s pealed out a laugh and moved to stand closer to the fire, some odd feeling pulling her to be at home here, “Vines, you say?” she looked to Lexa, who had moved to the set of drawers, “What exactly is your crop? And please, call me Clarke,”

“Grapes,” came the eventual answer, as Lexa turned back around, her hand holding a folded blue dress. It was well-made wool, Clarke could tell, used and washed many times over, “I run a vineyard,” she cleared her throat, “I shall show you in the morn, but for now, I hope this will suit you, Lady Clarke. I will put it here for you. You may take my bed, I will return tomorrow,”

Clarke frowned, “Where are you going? It’s the middle of the night,”

Lexa’s eyes seemed to relax into a sort of condescending observance, and Clarke realized what she had just said. She rolled her eyes at herself, but pinned the stranger with an expectant look.

“I go to the stables,”

“The stables?” Clarke frowned, “Nonsense. You shall stay in your own bed,” she looked to what Lexa had called a bed, no mattress or frame to be seen, “It will accommodate two just fine,” she declared regally.

Lexa seemed to startle, giving her a strange look.

“You… you would share a bed, Lady Clarke?”

The blonde smiled, happy at having caught the collected girl off-guard, “Of course. It isn’t unusual to request a bed-warmer at the castle,” privately, she added it was quite uncommon for those over the age of 10.

Lexa looked dubious, before Clarke raised her eyebrow a fraction of an inch, “Unless you consider it inappropriate? I didn’t realize I struck so fiendish a character,”

The brunette seemed to solidify her expression, and her back straightened indignantly. Clarke wanted to laugh. This girl was really quiet a girl, wasn’t she?

“No,” she grit, “We may share,” 

* * *

 

 

The morning brought confusion.

As she lay in the pile of furs on top of a surprisingly soft pad of many thick blankets, Clarke frowned as the sun was barely starting to rise and she quickly turned to find Lexa gone.

Just as she had cupped water over her face and into her mouth, the girl appeared in the doorway to the cottage.

Green, Clarke thought. Her eyes are green. The girl was even more beautiful in the dawn, the sun’s stretching yawns of light catching in her curling hair and cheeks. Oddly enough, Lexa wore men’s trousers and a light white shirt under suspenders. Her skin was bronze, and contrasted to the stretching green behind her.

“This way,” Lexa mumbled, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. She tried not to shift with the dawn-clear eyes on her, “If you are to work your debt, you will meet Indra and Gustus. They help run the vineyard,” Immediately, she turned and walked to the way she had come.

Clarke frowned and followed. Surely she got a better introduction than that? Rounding the small cottage, she saw the land for what it was; a stretching, sprawling land of clear, neat rows of vines. Sectioned into clear fields, there was a vegetable garden, a stable, and a large barn in the distance.

Crossing through the cottage’s yard after Lexa’s long strides, Clarke found herself next to the barn, where two people walked out leading a familiar horse.

“Elizabeth!” she cried, crossing to the enormous animal. The woman holding the horse’s reigns jerked and narrowed her eyes at her, looking quickly to Lexa. Clarke cleared her throat and attempted a smile.

“This is your mount, my Lady?” a deep voice cut.

The blonde found the voice and a large man nodded.

“Gustus,” he grunted, his head nodding to the other woman, “Wife. Indra,”

Clarke paused, her intelligent eyes taking in Indra and Gustus quickly. Gustus was clearly a foreigner from the north. His tattoos spoke as much, though Clarke didn’t know their meaning.

While Indra, clearly, was from the far South. Clarke had only ever seen a handful of dark-skinned people in her life, but she knew enough. This woman, her eyes so guarded, was clearly the offspring of slaves. Sharp scars lined her face and shoulders, as well as the old-looking brand pressed to her forearm.

Clarke smiled gently, extending her arm for Indra to grasp.

“A pleasure,” she replied in short time, “I’m sure I have much to learn from you both. I would be grateful for your patience,”

Lexa felt her mouth fall open. Stunned at this sovereign, she watched in awe as Indra gave the beautiful blonde a scanning glance. And reached to meet the girl’s outstretched hand.

“Well met, my Lady,” she gruffed, her eyes giving away only a measure of understood respect, “Though Lexa is surely a fine teacher enough,”

Clarke smiled, thrilled at the response, and Gustus seemed to grunt a chortle, his wife’s reply somehow amusing. Instead of shaking hands, he only nodded from his post.

“My Lady,”

“Please,” the blonde responded, dipping her head, “Call me Clarke. Ladies are present at court. And God forbid these beautiful lands be tainted with court,”

At her obvious jest, Lexa repressed a full smile. Gustus and Indra granted her with whole laughs, tension relieved. Indra looked to Lexa and seemed to wait.

“Lyle said he spotted weeds in the east field,” Lexa instructed, her arms crossed, she tipped her chin to the stables, “After, take Duncan to pull the watering trough. We start from the North today,”

Gustus grunted and Indra agreed, the pair turning to retrieve a wheelbarrow and begin their day’s work. Clarke turned to Lexa expectantly. Lexa simply held her stance. She looked to the sky, the sun weak and struggling to breathe.

“You will meet the children,”

Clarke cocked her head and frowned, clearly questioning. Lexa seemed to hesitate before clearing her throat.

“They are orphans from many villages. Sometimes, they come to the vineyard. They may wash in the river, are fed, and given a small wage,”

Clarke felt her heart waver. This girl seemed so brusque in the way she conducted herself – curt and efficient. To have a soft spot to go so far as to support homeless children? She started at Lexa with newfound awe.

Beautiful and terse, Clarke had thought. But beautiful and kind? Clarke felt a deep sense of drawn to this girl.

No more than a few heartbeats after Lexa had finished speaking, a loud set of high-pitched voices made its way to where Clarke and Lexa stood. From around the cottage’s back, came 5 children. Lexa clicked her tongue dispassionately.

“This is Clarke,” Lexa intoned, motioning to the blonde. The children watched her with wary eyes. The brunette looked to her, then pointed at each of the slightly-grimy children.

“Elle,” the oldest, a freckled girl with flaming red hair. Her eyes were a light, almost lime, green. She was holding a baby no older than 2, and held herself taller at the mention, “Teresa,” Lexa continued, pointing to the babe, “Justin,” a boy, with wicked dark eyes and bright smile, “Gwen,” a shorter girl, with traditional Arkadian features and soft eyes, “Lyle,” a younger boy of straw hair, and “Sampson,” a similar-aged boy with curly dark hair.

“Hello,” Clarke said softly, meeting all of their eyes with a smile. They immediately smiled back and the oldest girl, Elle, stepped forward after handing the babe to Justin.

“I am chief of this tribe!” she declared as seriously as she could up at Lexa, “And we demand fair work!”

“And if I challenge you to a duel instead?” the woman replied with a low glare.

Elle swallowed but grit her teeth, her fists balling as she looked Lexa in the eye, “Then so be it!”

Lexa held the young girl’s defiant stare, and Clarke felt a sudden thrill of worry that Lexa might strike the girl. But a heavy moment later, a twitch appeared at the corner of Lexa’s lips, and Elle nearly toppled over as she suddenly beamed with pride and happiness.

“Well done,” Lexa gentled evenly, her eyes lighter than Clarke had yet to see. The brunette nodded her head toward the stables, “Fresh hay. Winner gets the saddle,”

The children all cheered and scampered off, and Clarke watched them go. When she turned back to Lexa, the woman gave a self-conscious sort of cough and rubbed her neck.

Clarke smiled.

“Your horse,” Lexa brought forward, trying to switch, “is a male,”

Clarke tilted her head, “Yes,”

“But is named Elizabeth,”

The blonde shrugged, “I promised to let a groomsman’s son name him, and he chose Elizabeth. Who was I to go back on my word?”

Lexa’s mouth twitched. Then hardened.

“I found him last night. And stabled him with my mare, Penelope. My other horses, Samuel and Duncan, have separate stables,”

Clarke sucked a breath in, realization at a problem setting in.

“Oh,”

Green eyes rolled, and Clarke felt herself cast a cursory glance to her stallion’s clearly defined sex. She turned back to Lexa.

“Oh. But how did you not know…”

“It was dark,” the girl flattened. To Clarke’s shock and utter delight, the prettiest of pinks crept into Lexa’s ears and cheeks, “Very dark,”

And then the blonde was laughing. Full, labored, laughter. Lexa felt herself smile.

* * *

 

And so Clarke was shown Lexa’s vineyard. It was a long process, winemaking. Surprisingly precise, Lexa took her through the steps each stage of life grapes go through, and all the tasks that must be done to achieve them. Clarke felt herself build up a small portion of excitement in her stomach.

As she was set before the burnt crops she had met last night, a shovel for her and Lexa each, she marveled in how good she felt. Her hands ached as she cracked earth and dirt to rid the dead trees from the ground, and her back protested, her legs shaking as the sun set. She sweated alongside the other woman and when Lexa’s soft voice called that it was time for supper, Clarke couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“Why?” Lexa asked quietly, taking Clarke’s shovel from her.

“Why what?”

The girl flexed her jaw and looked away, trying to focus on anything but the girl’s royal features.

“Why do you,” she bit down again, furrowing her brow, “look so?”

Clarke smiled. She liked Lexa’s voice a rather lot, rare as it had been that day.

“Because. I know that this might be my only time to live this life, here,” she gestured to the land before her and all the work inside its veins, “And I know that one day, I must take the mantel of caring for everyone in Arkadia,”

Lexa listened intently, her movements stilled. It struck her then that this was her future monarch. This girl, here. Dirt on her cheek and bleeding hands, blonde hair and angelic featured. It didn’t seem real. Still, Clarke continued in a way that floored the brunette.

“And I know that if I am to rule my people justly, I must know them,”

Lexa felt her heart quicken as Clarke concluded, and knew. This girl would change the course of this year.

* * *

 

 

“What language is that?” Clarke asked one night. Lexa looked up from where she sat reading in front of the fire to meet Clarke’s interested gaze, potato peeling on hold.

She paused, “Trigedasleng,”

Clarke tilted her head, squinting at the characters, “You’re a foreigner,” she blanked, part question and part statement.

Lexa seemed to consider her response, “My parents and I immigrated,” she settled on.

Clarke smiled ruefully, “For someone who I now know speaks at least two languages, you’re fantastically short on words,” she teased, “You have a beautiful voice. I do wish you would talk to me,”

The brunette’s lips parted at the audacity of the girl. Clarke, delighted, watched as Lexa processed her words before going pink around her ears and looking away.

“I do not often,” she halted, “Entertain guests,” her green eyes leveled a glare to the blonde.

Clarke tsked, “Not true,” she declared, “You have Indra, Gustus, Elle, and all the children. Plus, traders and the rest of the town. But don’t fret, your stoicism is charming, to be sure,” she winked.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed, and Clarke internally laughed.

“I am well spoken when necessary,” was all she replied.

“Of course,” the blonde humored. Returning to her task, she relaxed into her next question, “What is your book about?”

Lexa looked up again, watching Clarke carefully work her knife.

“It is, uhm, a story. A fable,” she cleared her throat and said something in a rough, clicking language, “In Arkadian; Father Frost,”

“Frost,” Clarke hums, “I imagine winters up North are much harsher than ours?”

Lexa’s lips twisted, “Yes,” she caught Clarke’s gentle blue gaze and felt her insides heat slightly, “I was a young girl when my parents left Trigeda, but I remember many things. Here, there is only snow in winter. There, the snow rarely leaves,”

Clarke’s head tilted.

“Is it not depressing, then?”

Lexa gave a quiet laugh, fingers splaying over the pages fondly. Clarke thought she had never looked more stunning.

“On the contrary. It is very beautiful,”

Clarke hummed, “I only know a little about the North. And I have never visited further than Saxony. My Uncle William, you know, is King of Bohemia-Hungary. He insists I visit every so often. Is Trigeda worth visiting?”

Lexa’s mouth seemed to have forgotten its rightful place. Just like the future Duchess in front of her, kneeling by the fire in a dirty dress, her focus solely on preparing dinner in a cottage on lands that technically belonged to her.

Regaining her bearings, Lexa cleared her throat minutely, “No,”

Clarke seemed slightly disappointed.

“It is only,” Lexa tried, “They are a large Kingdom, Cruzcovia. Trigeda, only a province of her. But, now. All of them are under rule of terrible people,” she struggled to explain and keep Clarke interested, “The nation has been close to civil war for many years,”

Clarke considered her tense posture, “I’d studied that Cruzcovia had a very militant people,”

Lexa tipped her head, “Yes,”

The blonde bit her lip. Clearly, this was uncomfortable for Lexa.

“Would you read to me?”

The girl blinked.

“What?”

Clarke attempted a grin, “Your book, the Father of Frost,” she gestured with her knife to the object in Lexa’s lap.

Lexa looked perplexed, and Clarke sighed, “You don’t have books in Arkadian!”

The brunette seemed to straighten proudy, and Clarke rolled her eyes, scoffing, “Without books, or dancing, or music, I’m out of things to occupy my mind with. Read,”

“An order, my Lady?”

Clarke glared playfully, “Yes,”

Lexa felt a smile steal her lips, and her eyes fell to the book’s pages, “As you wish,” she cleared her throat and started from the beginning, “Once, there were two sisters...”

* * *

 

 

It became more and more common to wake up at the same time as Lexa. And with every morning that passed, their friendship grew. Within the soft greetings that the dawn demanded, and the rumbled laugh that Lexa would emit at the state of Clarke’s hair. With the every day feeling of Lexa’s back, so warm against Clarke’s own, the blonde would wake smiling.

One day, Lexa woke without one, and the blonde frowned, pulling her attention away from the rolls and milk she had warmed for them both.

“What is it?” Clarke asked gently, “You’ve been distracted for days, and now you’re just fidgeting,” she bit her cheek, “You’ll upset the children,” she attempted to joke. Lexa merely gave her a tense twist of her lips and dropped her roll, her hands clenching.

Long moments later, Clarke felt heart start to beat regularly as Lexa spoke.

“I feel I owe it to you,” the brunette fumbled, her twisting features matching the patterns her hands started to make, “Especially considering how we, that is, you and I, share bed rolls,” it wasn’t possible, but she grew even more agitated and no small amount of embarrassed at the mention of their sleeping arrangements.

Clarke simply tried to wait her out.

“I- I have a man’s… addition,” Lexa seemed ready to pass out, her face somehow pale, but her ears flaming with red. Her hands wrung, “I was born with uhm, both. It is not, uhm. Unheard of where I am from,”

Clarke blinked, her eyes unconsciously casting down to flicker over Lexa’s trousers through the tabletop. The woman stiffened, knowing it was a natural reaction, but still forcing herself not to flinch. Clarke tilted her head, peering back into Lexa’s wide, terrified green eyes.

“Okay,” Clarke said after moments, “What are you trying to tell me?”

Lexa gaped, her jaw working.

“I just did,”

“Just did what?”

“Tell you,”

Clarke blinked, “Oh,” she looked over the taller woman again, and allowed a small smile to steal over her lips. She stood and took a few quick steps to take Lexa’s hands in her own.

“Lex,” she said gently, kindly, “You’re still you,” her fingers stroked the taut skin where Lexa had gripped her in return, “Whether you wear trousers or a dress, or nothing at all, you’re still one of the greatest women I’ve ever met,”

Lexa was looking at her in awe, and Clarke’s heart melted. She smiled a little wider, “And you’re still a silly, horribly broody, stoic woman who takes things far too seriously,”

Lexa laughed, her eyes a little wet before blinking rapidly. Clarke smiled fully.

“What I mean is, I don’t care. Okay?”

“Clarke,” Lexa hesitated, forests of wonder in her eyes, “You are… very strange,”

The blonde grinned broadly, winking before sweeping away.

Lexa watched her go, her mouth replicating the expression, before she frowned.

“Clarke! I am not broody!”

* * *

 

In the spring, Clarke found herself missing an activity she once loved. And so, as the birds sang her a symphony, and Samuel trod his path on the water-wheel, Clarke began to hum the tunes of her court. Bored and waiting for Samuel, she soaked the sun into her skin and took a playful step backwards. And forwards. Half a step back.

Soon, she was dancing alone, stiff and proper, as she had been taught, her hand raised for an imaginary partner. Suddenly, she felt a hand take her own, and she jumped, watching Lexa laugh at her expense.

Clarke huffed, “The least you could do is announce your presence,”

Lexa’s lips were set in her ever-charming smile, “That would deprive me observation of your… shuffling,”

“Shuffling?” Clarke faux-cried, “I’ll have you know the galliard is my favorite dance. Just.. a bit awkward to do without music,”

“That was your dance?” Lexa asked, genuinely confused.

“Of course. How do you dance?”

“I do not,”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know how to dance?”

Lexa tipped her head, looking around the empty field. She wrinkled her nose briefly before shooting Clarke an accusatory glance.

“Of course I can dance. It does not take tutors to frivol about,”

“Oh yes?” Clarke challenged.

“Yes,”

Before Clarke could stop her, Lexa pulled Clarke’s captured hand and wrapped her own around the top. She then placed Clarke’s other on her shoulder and her own on Clarke’s back. Then, she moved.

Clarke couldn’t stop laughing.

Lexa stepped, forcing Clarke to follow, face-to-face and smiling. She dipped and spun, pushing Clarke to her heart’s content, humming some non-sense melody all the while. And Clarke felt her heart jolt, and when it beat again, it was in time with Lexa’s low, sweet humming. It crooned to the selfless, playful smile.

Clarke and Lexa danced, and Clarke had never felt anything so close to flying.

* * *

 

As the future monarch of Arkadia, Clarke had been to the capital city many times. It was one of her favorite places. But she had always come as Lady Clarke, riding in either on horseback or in a carriage. She had never haggled over prices or tried to sell anything. Never looked at the people, and was not gaped at in return.

And she found she loved it here.

“Lexa,” Clarke asked lightly, fixing the feedbags onto Duncan and Samuel, Lexa watching as several barrels of her wine were carefully rolled off their cart, sold to a popular tavern, “Would you mind if I went and strolled around? I’ve never been in the city on my own,”

The brunette looked at her, halfway conflicted. Clarke sent her a pleading look, and the green eyes gave in, “Of course. Only… be careful. People who wish others harm look just the same as those who do not,”

Clarke nodded, smiling at Lexa’s tendency to worry. Before their departure, the fretful brunette had asked her to wear a covering over her blonde hair. Most of it hidden, Lexa hadn’t been satisfied until Clarke allowed her to rub a sort of charcoal paint into the visible roots, turning her hairline soot-black. Lexa had said it was not wise to stand out in the city, and every Arkadian knew Lady Clarke to have hair of starlight.

Her face had burned nearly as much as Lexa’s at that, and the blonde had a tease on the tip of her tongue before Lexa prematurely glared at her with a playful, “They do not know their Lady never thinks to wash it,”

Clarke had laughed, and continued to let Lexa fuss with her hair. Now, she could feel the cautious green eyes on her back as she walked off, a basket in tow, and a promised return thrown over her shoulder.

She wandered the crowded streets, the central marketplace the most exciting. Stalls and sellers littered every surface, both known and unknown wares for purchase. Clarke watched little girls peddle flowers, their mothers spindling thread. Her heart glowed as she watched the inhabitants of her great province live peacefully.

She entered the food markets, wonderful smells leading her along. Fruits, vegetables, cheeses, meats, everything so wonderful in color and scent. She traded a half aug for a bag of rolls, thinking of their return home. Turning from the exchange, she fumbled and an apple dropped out of her basket.

Sighing, she bent, only to have a strange hand reach for it first. Clarke startled, the charming grin of a young man meeting her. He handed the apple back with a wink, and Clarke smiled in thanks.

“My gratitude,” she offered, nodding a bit. Her stomach lightly tensed, as Clarke realized just how alone she was.

The man just smiled more broadly, “Does yer gratitude come with a name, lass?”

“My name is Clar-“ she almost stopped, remembering, “-a. Clara,” she settled, Lexa’s cautious green eyes swimming in her memory.

“Pleasure, Clara. Name’s Kip,” he looked around, “Yer ‘usband seems to be a bit lackin’ in the apple-catchin’,”

Clarke gave a hesitant chuckle. He was only trying to be friendly, “He would,” she countered, “Since he doesn’t exist,”

“That right?” Kip smiled, his eyes glinting. Clarke nodded, fidgeting with her basket, “Well, in that case, fancy a drink then, Miss Clara? ‘S a right rowdy pub just ‘round the corner,”

“Oh,” Clarke blanched, “Actually-“ she flailed, Kip stepping a bit closer, brown eyes on her, his hand reaching to place over her wrist.

“C’mon, Clara,” he stepped again, “One pint won’ do ya in,”

“Clara,”

Clarke whirled, Kip’s head snapping up. Lexa was standing behind her, expression cutting and dangerous. Clarke nearly flinched, feeling like she somehow had done something wrong.

“It is time to go,” she said, her eyes never leaving the man’s face.

Clarke ducked, nodding her head at Kip, “Good day,” and she turned, Lexa’s hand offering her a path out, and she walked quickly, the brunette’s presence behind her.

She scurried back to the wagon, sighing when she placed the basket back on the cart, turning hesitantly. Surprised, she found Lexa nearly on her toes, concern engraved into her vine eyes, a hand cautiously reaching to touch her elbow lightly.

“Clarke,” her voice whispered, “Are you alright?”

The blonde-turned brunette nearly laughed. Instead, she nodded, meeting Lexa’s arm and curling her hand around the tanned bicep, “I’m fine,” she soothed, “Nothing uncomfortable,”

Lexa waivered, irritation overtaking her face, “That,” she grumbled, “is a lie,”

Clarke laughed once, “Maybe. But still, he’s just a boy. Trying to meet just a girl,”

The brunette straightened, fingers unconsciously stroking the fair inner elbow, “You are not ‘just a girl’. You are Clarke,”

Clarke allowed herself to laugh fully, and Lexa huffed once more before relaxing.

“So, what shopping must be done still?” she cheered, and the brunette acquiesced to move on.

They visited stall to stall, Clarke learning all the while. Lexa showed her in quiet guidance how to fix a price, how to tell good fruit from bad, how to identify cheap trinkets from quality tools. They made several trips back to where they stabled the horses and cart, slowly filling it with meats, cheeses, material, and so on. Just as the sun tipped past midday, Lexa made her final stop to the blacksmith for horseshoes.

“Here,” she said on the way back to the vineyard, handing Clarke a hard, flat package wrapped in a cloth, “For you,” she tilted her head, “The seller is my friend. He says you may exchange it for a different one when we are next in town,”

Clarke gasped, delighted to reveal the hard-back spine of a book.

“Lexa! Thank you!” she crowed, reading the Arkadian title excitedly. Lexa smiled, her soft eyes leaving the road momentarily as Duncan and Samuel plodded on.

“Of course. Maybe this time, you read to me, hm?”

Clarke laughed, “But why? I just got your voice working! If you quit, perhaps you’ll fall out of practice and lose the ability completely,”

Lexa rolled her eyes, but couldn’t drop her smile.

“You will have to chance it,” she smirked, “I cannot read that,”

Clarke lofted the book in askance, “You can’t read Arkadian? But you speak it so beautifully!”

Lexa didn’t look at her, just letting her gaze guide the horses, reigns in hand, “Speak,” she stressed.

Clarke sighed, “So be it. But don’t think you’ve escaped exercise. Maybe I’ll ask you sing to me next,”

She burst into laughter at the horrified look Lexa sent her, falling in mirth onto the woman’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

It had been a rather long day, just as it usually was. Rising a bit before sun up, Clarke had spent the majority of her day in the garden, weeding and watering appropriately. As the sun tipped to stain the sky in a warning of farewell, she returned to the cottage to start supper.

Lexa returned just as she finished, uncanny in her timing. Clarke laughed at her as she arrived, dripping onto the ground outside, obviously having fallen into the river.

“Absolutely not,” Clarke commanded with a smile when the woman moved to enter the house, Lexa glaring at her ruefully, “I haven’t swept, and you’ll muddy the floor. No. I’ll get you a set of clothes, but you’re changing in the stable,”

Lexa protested, looking adorable. Clarke simply hummed as she fetched the recently taken-in laundry she had folded. She continued humming, louder and louder as Lexa neared a whine.

She sent the woman off with a pointed close of the door. Clarke chuckled all through the skinning of the hare Lexa had brought her to cook.

Loud knocks on the door brought an amused smile to her face. Sometimes, she thought as she crossed to open the door, Lexa could be so-

“Taxes,” a large man gruffed, beady black eyes peering out from a low, jutting brow. He was very clean for such a large man, but his face was unshaven, nose broken several times over.

Clarke stalled.

“Oh,” she replied, “Of course. Uhm. What do I owe you?”

The man seemed to brighten, his thick arms moving to open a ledger. Behind him, Clarke spied a great black horse, tied to the cottage’s awning post.

“’Oo ’er yuh?”

The blonde blinked, trying to discern his slurred, deep voice, a thickened drone. The syllables finally collected into meaning in her mind, and she hurried to answer, wiping her hands with her apron.

“Clara,” she replied when he looked up at her, hastily adding, “Woods,”

“Woods,” he repeated, looking over the booklet.

Clarke waited, searching in the visible space between his broad shoulders for Lexa.

“300 aug,”

Clarke tried not to gape, her eyebrows shooting up. Sure, her grand treasury would giggle at the number, but she knew very well that Lexa got a little over that from nearly a whole half of her year’s stock.

“300 aug?” Clarke repeated, the man seeming to watch her intently. She swallowed and nodded, biting her lip and yearning for Lexa. Her hold on her apron relaxed, the man’s overwhelming presence moving her to action.

“Right,” she murmured, her heart biting as she grieved the loss of the money already, “One moment, please,” She moved in slow steps back into the house, crossing to where Lexa hid her gold inside one of many clay jars.

Just three steps in, Lexa’s quiet voice broke the tense silence.

“Tax collection?”

“Lexa!” Clarke nearly shouted, her hands recoiling from where she had started reaching for the shelves. The woman stood behind the doorway, her eyes quickly assessing the situation.

The man lumbered around to look at her, taking her in. He nodded, “Taxes due,”

“Lex, it’s 300 aug,” Clarke relayed, apprehension in her voice. The brunette glanced at her, then back to the man.

“I am sorry, Mister…?” she trailed, clearly asking a question.

“Mallory,” he grunted.

“Mister Mallory,” Lexa started, “I fear there has been a mistake. The taxes on this property have been 120 aug since my father purchased it. I heard no decree that Duke Griffith had raised them,”

The large man shifted in agitation, and Clarke’s heart fluttered in fear.

“Further,” Lexa carried softly, “I do not believe I am due for taxes yet this year. If your records reflect, they have always been paid a week after the summer solstice,”

Mallory checked the ledger, the sun still strong enough to highlight the words, as well as his displeased frown.

“Sure,” was all he said, tucking the book away and turning to untie his horse. The two women watched his movements in silence, Lexa crossing to enter the cottage.

Clarke immediately folded herself into the woman’s arms, an apology ready on her lips before Lexa hummed, a soft laugh and an even softer stroke of the blonde’s hair.

* * *

 

“Lex,”

“Hm?”

“I need to go, but I’ll be back,”

Lexa straightened from where she had been grasping Elizabeth’s hoof, digging out muck, to watch Clarke brush Duncan.

“We just went to the city a week ago. What did you forget?”

The blonde shook her head, “No, I must go back to the castle,”

Lexa stilled. It had nearly been the agreed upon year already, Lexa knew. Still. She had thought…

Clarke looked over her shoulder at the paused woman and smiled reassuringly, “But I’ll be back,”

Lexa nodded, her jaw tightening lightly at being so easily read.

“When?”

“Mm, I don’t really know. My days are my own, but I want to start doing more for Arkadia. Be who they need me to be when I am Duchess,”

Lexa tipped her head, patting the beautiful stallion absentmindedly, “How do you mean?”

“I mean I want reports of living conditions,” Clarke began, frowning slightly at nothing, the side of her pretty face visible as she moved, “Arkadia is the largest province in Polisia, and I’ve barely even seen half of it,”

Lexa felt her chest warm, not trying to tamp the feeling down, “It is mostly farm and country. You frequent the capital city, and not much of it varies from what you have seen,”

“I want to know, Lexa. I don’t even know if the Earls and Counts have any real obligation to steward their people. My father doesn’t require it. And the other day, with the tax collector… It really bothered me,”

Lexa watched her, quiet. Her fingers started to braid Elizabeth’s recently brushed mane.

“What will you do?”

Clarke sighed, “I don’t really know what I can do,”

“You can do anything, Clarke. I believe you could be Queen, if you put your heart in it,” Lexa smiled, “Anyone who commands the milk man the way you do could surely rule a kingdom,”

She laughed, and turned to glare at the smirking brunette.

“It is not my fault his wife looks like Duncan,”

Lexa smiled broadly, then sent her a pensive look, “Clarke. Arkadia is in good care already. But if you must, meet with your Lords. Even your presence will let them know that the future Duchess intends to love her land,”

Her blue eyes shone, and she smiled, “And I do intend that. How can I show my people?”

Lexa tilted her head genially, “By telling them yourself,”

Clarke nodded, then smiled, “Why don’t you take the coronet, and I’ll take the vineyard?”

The tall brunette scoffed, pushing away from Elizabeth to start on Samuel’s hooves, “I said Arkadia. You are no where near qualified to run a vineyard, Clarke,”

Her laughter sparkled, crying a protest Lexa didn’t focus on due to the echo of Clarke’s mirth ringing around her heart.

* * *

 

Lexa believed wholeheartedly she were about to meet her death. The tanner’s wife in town told her that her brother had died of heart constrictions of some sort, and she swore that was what was happening to her now.

Because Clarke was riding toward her with the sun in her hair, the sky in her eyes, the sea in her laughter, and the wind in the grace of her smile. Lexa was reminded starkly of when she first met Clarke – the strange, wonderful girl who had glared at her for keeping her from chores.

Clarke still had that pride in her bones. The strength that ran off to the very tips of her fingers, reckless and wild as she worked. But now, it was so grounding. Now, that burning hunger for life had been quenched somewhat. Now, it licked and purred for the end of a day.

Or maybe that was Lexa.

Because as Lexa watched Elizabeth canter towards her, Clarke looked like she were Mother Earth herself. She was so warm, so beautiful. Lexa felt like weeping.

Instead, she allowed herself to drop her rake and run to the slowing animal. Clarke was already giggling and, Lexa nearly yanking her from her saddle, brought her to full, humming, laughs.

The brunette stopped short, too excited to do anything but hold Clarke’s hands in hers and smile, her mouth for once parted in a full display of surprisingly even teeth. Clarke caught her breath as she watched Lexa’s mouth, her fondness for the two small, sharp teeth the farmer had, rattling her mind.

“I missed you,” she breathed out, unobstructed.

Lexa’s expression only hesitated for a moment.

“I am glad you have returned,”

Clarke assumed that was Trigedasleng for, ‘I missed you too.’

* * *

 

Lexa rolled her eyes.

“Clarke, it does not matter. It is dirt,”

“But picture it, Lex, please?”

The brunette roused herself, focusing as requested on the adamant blonde, “My stew will cool,” she blanketed shortly.

“Lexa,” the blonde exasperated.

“Clarke,”

“Listen!”

“I have no choice but to,”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but started ticking off on her fingers, “Stones will look much better! Nice and flat, you won’t need to worry about tracking up mud from here to the stables or the river. And they’re easy to keep clean. They would make sure you could go to the stables in naught but bare feet, since the stables are stone. Lexa, they would look so pretty!”

Lexa scoffed.

“Clarke. You want I should _purchase_ rocks, so that I may lay them on the ground, in order to become better ground? Would you like me to trade Duncan for someone else’s wine, as well?”

“Lexa! I’m talking about a path! A stone path!”

Green eyes leveled with her, “I have no need to cobble my land, Clarke,” she picked her spoon up and commenced eating once more.

“We also need a new garden fence. One with a door. A swinging door,”

Lexa nearly threw down her spoon, face scrunching in complaint as she appealed to the beautiful, stubborn, girl, “Why?” she groused, “Why must we change things?”

Clarke glared at her.

“Lexa, I lost all of my turnips because I’m apparently growing them for the hares. Half of the posts are crooked, and Elle took a hatchet to the fence door a month ago,”

Lexa ducked her head, stirring her stew, “I do not even like turnips,” she muttered petulantly.

“Lexa,”

She sighed heavily, fixing her eyes on Clarke’s aggravated blue stare.

“Yes, alright,” Lexa heaved, “A new fence,”

“And a path?”

“And a path,”

Clarke smiled brilliantly, the storm in her eyes swept away in a blink. Lexa was so blinded by her sudden happiness, she forgot to startle at the kiss Clarke pressed to her cheek.

Her ears burned, and she thought for a moment about trying to drown herself in her stew.

“Why haven’t you ever told me you don’t like turnips?”

* * *

 

Clarke threw her head back in laughter as she watched Lexa twirl Gwen in her arms, the outside fire pit blazing and merry as Gustus and a few neighbors played their instruments. She took Justin in her own arms and mimicked Lexa’s happy footwork.

There was drink and dance, and Clarke knew this paled to what those at court called a party. The winter solstice marked the end of the harvest season, the hardest of the year, and a time to rest and be merry. It was a celebration like Clarke had never seen. It seemed the whole town had come to their spot a few candlemark’s ride from the vineyard, and the air was infected with gaiety.

Later, when Lyle was nearly tipping over from tiredness, Clarke nodded a question at Lexa, her arms full of Teresa and Sampson. Lexa smiled at her, Elle and Gwen each leaning against her, eyes drooping.

When the cart’s wheels turned their last, the moon was high in the night sky.

“They may stay in the empty barn stall tonight,” Lexa whispered over Justin’s head as she carried him. Clarke nodded and ushered a barely-awake Elle to follow.

She had fixed the fire for the night when Lexa entered the cottage, and Clarke turned to her.

“Thank you for showing me tonight,” Clarke whispered, and Lexa merely nodded, “Though,” she playfully accused, “You denied me a dance with you,”

Lexa scoffed, “I did no such thing,”

Clarke grinned, “Then dance with me now?”

The brunette leveled an all of a sudden serious look at the blonde, so beautiful in the orange light. All night, Lexa had watched the girl dance. All night, her breath seemed to be captured somewhere between her heart and her lips.

Clarke nearly gasped when Lexa’s arm slid around her waist more smoothly than ever before. Not to be outdone, Clarke stepped more fully into the brunette, the hard and soft feeling of Lexa’s chest and stomach against her own. She stroked Lexa’s hand where the girl had taken her own.

When Lexa moved, it was minute. And slow. Intimate.

When Lexa sang, it was without words. Deep in her throat. Deep in her eyes.

Clarke wanted to feel her. She wanted to feel everything, just like this, forever. She closed her eyes and wished the moment on. Lexa’s smooth skin touched her forehead, and Clarke briefly opened her eyes to see Lexa’s own closed, the smallest of smiles pulling at the girl’s lips.

She was suddenly reminded of a Trigedan tragedy Lexa had once read to her, about a poisoned knight who saves his dying love from the clutches of an angry snow Goddess. When they kissed, the Goddess was so moved she froze them together, in embrace for all eternity.

* * *

 

Clarke woke slowly, her body warm for the first time since the turn of November, to find Lexa’s arm curved gently around her waist, hand flat and limp on her stomach, gentle breath warm on the back of her neck and shoulders. The fires had been dying earlier and earlier, and Lexa had apologized profusely and sworn to purchase blankets as quickly as possible. Clarke had stopped her, knowing how loathe Lexa was to anything but Cruzcovian furs.

It seemed, Clarke thought with amusement, Lexa had found a much cheaper way to keep her warm. The woman’s arm was heavy, the corded muscle relaxed and anchoring. More prominent, though, was the feeling of a warm hardness pushing against the back of her thigh.

Clarke felt her face heat, a swooping in her stomach of anticipation. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, to be sure. But Lexa was modest to extremes, and it wasn’t often Clarke indulged herself in thinking about Lexa as a sexual being.

The most she ever thought of it was when they dressed or bathed, always at separate times of the day. Every once in a while, Clarke would catch Lexa returning from relieving herself in the latrine, her hands surely lacing her breeches, and the blonde would feel her mouth dry. She’d even seen it a few times. As Lexa moved after waking, it was visible. A telling lift in her trousers outlining something hard and long. Even the thought of Lexa, beautiful Lexa, her breeches undone, her prick-

The idea of it brought a flutter to Clarke’s stomach, and she tried to clear her mind, not wanting to start something in herself that would ruin her beautiful friendship. For now, she was content in knowing she had woken earlier than Lexa for once.

When Lexa woke, it was with an adorable sound and mild constriction around Clarke’s middle. A sharp inhalation later, and Lexa slowly moved to retract her arm and hips from contact.

Clarke could have rolled her eyes. Trust Lexa to be gentle in all things. Clamping down on the limb, she snuffled into the fur under her head.

“No,” she mumbled childishly, “Warm. Stay,”

Lexa didn’t move for a moment. Then, she relaxed in increments. A beat, and Clarke happily wriggled backwards, Lexa’s body the perfect curvature, her length slipping between her buttocks. The blonde sighed as she felt the bicep against her arm flex until it held her securely, and she settled in to sleep another hour.

* * *

 

“Would you come to the castle? It’s my birthday, next month,” Clarke twisted her fingers, watching Lexa’s face carefully as the woman shut her book and focused on her, “My father likes to throw parties for me, and the medici say this might be his last winter, so. So,”

Her hands were stilled from where Lexa’s had laid a single gentle palm over them, her green eyes peering earnestly into hers, willing her into calm. Clarke hesitated a smile.

“It’s my coronation,” she gave, “Father says he wanted to live to see me wear the coronet, and so he’s turning Arkadia’s rule over to me before he dies,” Clarke felt Lexa move to sit beside her on the furs. Idly, she traced the lines in Lexa’s palm.

“There will be two whole days of celebrating afterward, and probably into the week. Guests from all over Europe are coming. Including my mother’s brother, the King. All sorts of Dukes, Counts, Lords, Princes,” she sighed, “But I really won’t be able to celebrate unless you’re there,”

Lexa looked stunned as Clarke met her eyes.

“Clarke,” she started, “I can not,”

The blonde frowned in a way that made Lexa want to laugh, “Why ever not?”

“I am not a Duchess, a Countess, a Lady, or a Princess,” Lexa smiled patiently, slightly mocking, “I am a laborer. A farmer. A good one, but a vineyard owner all the same,”

Clarke nodded, “Then come as a vineyard owner. As the best in Arkadia, no, in all Polisia!”

Lexa laughed, shaking her head, “It will never work, Clarke. I have not a noble bone in my body,”

“Nonsense,” the woman sniffed haughtily, “You can read, and dance, and eat with your mouth closed,” Lexa laughed, “What more is there?”

The brunette rolled her eyes and pulled Clarke to her feet, instinctively finding her place for their made-up dance. Dancing never failed to cheer Clarke, “I knew you could sound like a sovereign when you wanted to,” she teased, “But if my Lady, no- if your Grace would deign, may this lowly laborer request a dance?”

Clarke was laughing and glaring at her ridiculous friend, but she was happy. On the porch in the dying sun, one hand in Lexa’s, her other on her shoulder, green eyes flickering and whole, how could she not be?

“Wouldn’t you be my first dance for my coronation ball?”

A scoff, “Clarke,”

“Lexa,”

A tremendous roll of her eyes, “You are impossible,”

“A true ruler, then?”

“Truly,” Lexa smiled, and her heart led her in the familiar beats, Clarke’s always in tandem with hers. They danced through the quiet fluidly, and the blonde locked eyes with the taller girl.

“You will come, though, won’t you?”

The brunette watched her with careful eyes, saw the soft pleading. Clarke, Lexa realized, was scared. The thought gave her an answer instantly.

“Yes,”

For that smile, Lexa would do anything.

And so it came to be a month later, that Lexa left detailed instructions to an amused Indra about what to do in her absence, Clarke saddling their horses. At her return, Clarke smiled excitedly against the January frost, the sun not yet risen.

“Ready?”

Lexa nodded and stepped to chaperone Clarke’s climb onto Elizabeth. As always, the blonde rolled her eyes at the odd things Lexa worried over, but didn’t comment. They rode off easily, and Clarke jockeyed her horse close to Lexa’s, her breath misting as she talked about what to expect.

The brunette merely listened attentively and offered questions when confused.

“Nobility finds such strange customs to occupy their time with,” she commented dryly. Clarke hid a smile and waited for the rest, “Why does it matter who sits first and last?” she complained, “Everyone winds up seated,”

“It’s a sign of respect,”

“But I have never met the King. How do I know whether he deserves respect or not? And these minor Lords. What have they done to deserve their Lordship? I feel they should report on their lands. I have never even met my land’s Lord. Only his tax collectors,”

Clarke bit her lip, studying the genuinely confused expression on her older friend’s face. Lexa was so logical. So practical.

“You see so clearly,” Clarke said, “Sometimes I forget that I do not,”

Lexa looked at her, surprised, “I am sorry. I did not mean to criticize,”

The blonde shook her head, locks wild and fluttering in the early morning light, “I like that about you. You know that,” she smiled, “But who doesn’t find charm in the vineyard mistress?”

Lexa rolled her eyes, “Your household, most likely,”

“No, my household won’t have time to not find you charming. They’ll be all cut up over my absence,” she tilted her head, “My coronation is at noon, I think,”

Lexa gaped at her, “Clarke, at noon, _you think,_ Clarke? You said it was tomorrow!” without thinking, she tapped Penelope into a soft gallop.

“Wait!” Clarke called, catching up and laughing, “I’m sorry I lied!” Lexa glared thunderously, “Don’t look at me like that! I sent a note yesterday when they came to fetch your wine. They know when to expect me. Besides,” she shrugged, “I wanted another day with you, just as I am. Not as the Duchess of Arkadia,”

Lexa considered this, a question she had been struggling over for the past month on the tip of her tongue. Clarke watched her flexing expression, knowing Lexa will speak when ready.

“Clarke,” she began, and the blonde’s heart fluttered. Lexa had never truly managed to shake her accent, “When you are Duchess, you be allowed to leave the castle? As you have?”

She laughed, “Of course I can leave. I will be the ruler of Arkadia. I am not confined by anyone, save King Marcus,”

“Yes, but… you will have responsibility. And, the way you come to visit the city, the land… and me,” she stared resolutely at the road, “It will have to end. The Duchess of Arkadia cannot be running off to farm a vineyard. Am I wrong?”

Clarke felt her heart constrict. Lexa hadn’t been this haltingly protective of herself since the start of their friendship. She knew, delicately, that her answer had the potential to crush the proud woman riding next to her.

“Yes and no,” she replied, “As Duchess, I’ll have a lot of responsibilities. But I’ll also have a lot of advisors, and people to help me. I’ll need to work with my father a lot, to make sure everything runs smoothly, but Lexa,” she smirked, “The Duchess of Arkadia can do whatever she wants. Including running off to farm a vineyard,”

Lexa tried not to grin too largely, toying a worn leather reign, “I am glad,” was all she responded. Clarke watched her out of the corner of her eye, her heart light. They approached the hilltop castle as the sun was just starting to warm the Earth.

As Clarke led them to the immense courtyard, Lexa tried to take in everything. Two young women were waiting as the pair dismounted, groomsmen taking their horses away, and Clarke addressed them warmly.

“Octavia, Raven,” she gestured to Lexa, “This is Lexa Woods, the owner of the most divine vineyard I’ve ever tasted. She’s very important to me,” Lexa pinked as the blonde carried on, “Have her bathed and given fresh clothing. Brand new. And bring her food. Oats, boiled in cow’s milk with honey and cane sugar,”

Lexa wanted to gape. Instead, her eyebrow rose, “I am not a horse, Clarke,”

The blonde smiled, turning to the woman and grasping a chilled hand, “Can I help it if I want to show off my castle to you?”

“So far, you are only showing me the demanding nature of your castle’s sovereign,”

Clarke laughed fully.

The ladies in waiting glanced at each other in shock, quickly schooling their expressions. They had never heard someone address their Lady as ‘Clarke’ so casually, so fondly. And they had never seen their Lady return such a fondness!

“Lastly,” the Lady turned back to them, “Are there quarters ready in the east wing?”

Raven dipped her head, “Yes, your Grace, all your other guests occupy the west wing, though,”

Clarke nodded, “Perfect. Prepare Lexa’s room for the east, close to mine. And I am not your Grace, not yet Raven. Are the hypocausts running well?”

“Yes, my Lady,”

“Excellent,” she turned excitedly to the tall brunette, bringing the captured hand to her breast, “I’ll see you after the coronation, Lex. Just relax and try to stay in the wings. No one will question you, and if they do just say you’re a lady in waiting, Octavia will help you,”

Lost for words, Lexa realized how real this was. Clarke was memorizing her wide emerald eyes honestly.

“I wish I could dance with you,” she said softly. Lexa relaxed, distracted by the admission of Clarke’s nerves. Without thinking, she reached to pet the silk locks.

“You will be marvelous, Clarke,” her timbre gentled out, “You will rule with grace. And kindness. You already have,”

Uncharacteristically, Clarke’s complexion flushed red, and she licked her lips. Lexa frowned.

“You should not do that, Clarke. Your lips will crack,”

The blonde scoffed, torn from her sudden haze. She smiled, and looked back to her audience, their gaze respectfully turned away from the pair, “Raven, see to Lexa’s accommodations?”

“Of course,”

“Right,” Clarke breathed, “See you later,”

Lexa nodded, and Octavia followed her Lady as she left. She turned to the maid, Raven, and tipped her head.

“Hello,” she murmured, and the smaller girl quirked an eyebrow.

“This way,” she said, and started off.

Lexa followed obediently, noticing immediately the limp Raven walked with. As she was led, Lexa tried to map the castle. She entered through some servant’s entrance, but was led through main corridors. Fine rugs, paintings, tapestries and torches lines the walls, and her head spun.

Raven stopped after a while and nodded at a crimson door at the end of the hall, “Lady Clarke’s room,” she said, watching the woman, and Lexa’s throat flexed, “Yours is here,” she gestured in front of her, and opened the door.

Elaborately furnished, dark wood for a bed, desk, bureau, and closet. Large fireplace roaring, and a copper washing basin ready on the floor.

“Who are you?”

Lexa turned, the dark eyes narrow and focused on her.

“Pardon?”

Raven strode toward her, one hand in her skirt as she looked the woman unashamedly up and down, “You call my Lady by her first name, you wear a man’s trousers and shirt, you touch familiarly and look at her like a lover. I was raised in this castle, played with my Lady as a girl. Her well-being is my only purpose, aside from heading her household. So I ask again, who are you?”

Lexa had once met a feral dog in the city, and she thought Raven looked very similar, now. But she tried not to flinch under her protective expression. She worded herself carefully.

“I am Lexa Woods. I am where your Lady has been going for the better part of the past year. I own a vineyard. I do not want for money, nor food, nor charity. I do not seek to gain anything. But I do seek the company of your Lady. She has lit my world, and I fear now if you deem me unacceptable, I shall return to dark,”

She swallowed self-consciously. The shorter girl studied her curiously.

“Are you her lover?”

Lexa shook her head.

“Do you want to be?”

The brunette startled slightly, her eyes blowing wide. Raven watched, amused, as the woman’s ears turned a soft scarlet. She scoffed.

“Right, then. I’ll send a girl up for your bath,” she turned to the door.

Lexa shifted on her feet awkwardly, watching this stranger exit, leaving her in an even stranger room. She didn’t want some girl to bathe her. She missed Clarke.

A while later, her hair dripping and clad in nothing but a towel, Lexa breathed deeply, looking between Clarke’s lady in waiting and her head of house. They had lost their minds.

“Why not?” Raven demanded.

“I thought you hated me?” Lexa assessed, Octavia raising an eyebrow. The slighter girl waved her off.

“That was before you professed your love for Lady Clarke,”

Lexa gaped, looking to Octavia, “I did not-“

“Neither here nor there,”

Octavia smirked, “Miss, please. I think our Lady would cry of happiness. We know her well, and she’s spoken to me of you for months,”

“She has?”

Raven scoffed, and Lexa shot her a dirty look, her eyes roaming to the sets of clothes laid out on the bed. She flexed her jaw.

“If- If we are to do this,” she grit. _Damn it all!_ “I cannot be found out. Ever,”

The pair smiled brilliantly, thrilled.

“You both are hysterical,”

Raven grinned, “Possibly. But you are the one crazed for another woman,” Lexa protested again, only to be cut off, “But you’re in luck, the French ambassador and his oh so very liberal crew are here, no doubt on the way to violating my groomsmen,”

Lexa colored slightly, then sighed, looking to Octavia.

“I would like to be as authentic as possible. Do you have charcoal and goldclay?”

Anything for Clarke’s happiness.

* * *

 

Clarke barely remembers her coronation. She sat on her father’s- no- _her_ throne, and then a heavy golden coronet is placed on her head. She holds a scepter and a grape vine in each hand, and a sudden moment of clarity overcomes her.

The hall is tall and decorated with the Arkadian flag and coat of arms. The King of Polisia, her favorite uncle Marcus, in full regalia, speaking in booming authority about honor and duty. The audience very still, royalty both foreign and Polisian, watching and decadent. They were both courtly and exotic looking. Decorations she didn’t understand adorned their chests and gowns. She had advisors and a full orchestra ready to play.

_But where was Lexa?_

Her eyes swept the walls, dozens of servants ready to attend to her guests. Still, not a single pair of her viridian eyes.

In a rush, she recalls the rest of the ceremony, the audience bowing, applause, a signing, the orchestra striking, servants taking her scepter and cloak away. Vaguely, she tried to remember who her dance partner was. She recalled Octavia telling her last minute that it was some Count from the North.

Her court herald called and broke her focus, reading from his ledger.

“For the first dance of Duchess Clarke Griffith’s coronation ball, she is joined by the Count of Trigeda, Lord Alexander Welf,”

Clarke descended her throne, and went to meet this Lord she had never met. Lexa had never mentioned House Welf from Trigeda. Approaching, she nearly stopped as he stepped forward from the crowd.

Lord Alexander wore a deep emerald tunic across broad shoulders, buttoned smartly from his throat to his slim waist. Matching trousers, and high black boots. Silver buttons, white gloves and tied scarf, Count Welf was obviously fabulously wealthy.

But his features stole Clarke’s breath.

Trigeda, Clarke knew, had very specific customs. One of which, Lexa had told her, was the braiding of their hair. Women put braids in the loose part of their hair, different adornments meaning different things. Men, however, braid their hair from root to tip. And as such was Lord Welf, revealing a sharp jawline.

What Lexa had also mentioned was the use of paint for their faces. War paint, she’d specified. Clarke could practically hear Lexa’s patient voice in her head.

“For ceremonies, battles, or other such things. The marks are custom to a certain House. It is a great declaration to wear war paint. It marks the dedication of one’s whole being to the event,”

Count Welf wore paint, and Clarke was never told how devastating the effect was. It hid half of his face, but drew all focus to his serious green eyes. Such green eyes, Clarke thought, drawing nearer.

She had never seen eyes like that. Then, her mind clicked the closer she came. The eyes, the sparkle in them. The fullness of his lips. The cut of his jaw.

The music found a start, and the Count dropped into a bow respectfully. Drawing upright, his eyes found hers and Clarke gasped, almost forgetting to curtsy.

It was a pavane, and the man took his position dutifully, Clarke reflexively placing her hand in his, the other on her dress’ bodice. Even through gloves, the gentle close of fingers around her own could never be mistaken.

“Lexa?” she breathed.

The woman’s green eyes flashed, and she stepped on the correct start, the pair moving like they had for years. Clarke watched in awe, her eyes assessing everything in front of her. Lexa kept their bodies separated appropriately, arm loft in the air, her movements sure and confident.

She seemed taller, and Clarke assessed her boots must give her height. The war paint hid the exact height and curvature of her cheekbones, as well as her fine eyebrows. The blonde noted her flexed jaw, the muscles standing out. If Clarke didn’t know better, she would undoubtedly assume her a very fine-featured man.

“Clarke,” came the husky, lovely whisper of affirmation, “You look beautiful,”

The blonde smiled, her heart in her throat.

Halfway through, her guests joined them, their quiet murmurings at the mysterious Count and the famed Duchess tapering off. The end of the song signaled applause and the start of a new one, and Clarke begged the familiar eyes at the wrong height. Lexa smiled softly, and Clarke’s heart swooped.

They danced, and danced, and barely said a word.

But the join of blue and green wrote volumes into each other.

At the end of the fourth song, Lexa felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned as the dancers applauded the orchestra. A man with shoulder-length hair at her eye level bowed his head minutely.

“Lord Welf, if I may, I believe the Duchess promised me a dance?”

Lexa turned to Clarke with an unreadable expression, and the blonde inclined her head, “Of course Baron Toíle. I apologize for the wait,”

“Not at all,” he smiled agreeably, turning to Lexa, “Well met, Sir,”

“Indeed,” Lexa replied, control and power in her low tone. She bowed to Clarke once more, and left the floor.

Clarke quickly smiled at the Baron and curtsied, her mind racing with nothing but Lexa. She danced with many people, all noble and respectful. She tried to laugh and relax, her friends Lord Monty and Lord Finn both having a dance.

Finally, she ran off on an excuse of needing a drink, only to look for Lexa. She caught the eye of Octavia, and her lady in waiting waved her over.

“Where is she?” Clarke asked quietly, and the girl bit her lip, trying to ascertain her Grace’s mood, “the garden,”

A nod, and Clarke was gone.

Her search was short lived, as Lexa found her first.

“Hello,” she said softly, her tone at once in contrast to her wildly sharp appearance.

“Lexa, what are you doing?” Clarke whispered harshly, her own delighted features at odds with her tone, “If anyone found out you’re impersonating a royal dignitary,” her smile fell, “they could take you to the guillotine,”

The woman smiled weakly, her eyes flashing around the deserted winter garden, “Clarke, do not worry. Please? The royalty of Cruzcovia is extensive and convoluted. The war has raged long enough to where no one is quite sure who is in power at any one time. So please, do not worry,” she soothed, catching a hand in hers. Clarke marveled at the gloved touch. She reached to trace the fine silver stitching on Lexa’s tunic, her chest abnormally flat.

“Where did you even get this?”

Clarke cocked her head as Lexa’s cheeks and ears were hidden, and she so deeply missed her adorable blush.

“Uhm, it was Octavia and Raven’s idea, actually, Clarke,”

“You don’t say?” she murmured. Lexa bit her lip.

“Please do not be upset,”

Clarke smirked, “My staff has given me such a handsome gentleman for my coronation. How could I complain?”

“Clarke,”

“Hush, you know I tease. But truly, you strike quite a figure. You may have to dance with others to avoid suspicion. How is it you are so… large?”

Lexa cleared her throat, looking down at herself, “Raven sewed in, uhm, padding. And my… breasts, are bound rather tightly. The boots have blocks, as well,”

Clarke nodded, trying to see past the façade.

“And your paint?” She reached to trace the edges of the descending tracks with a careful finger.

“They are my father’s marks,” Lexa’s thumb stroked Clarke’s hand absentmindedly, “I wanted to grant you your request for your first dance as Duchess,”

Clarke felt her heart constrict, then beat wildly.

“Lexa,”

“And,” the woman continued, her face lighting up in a way her war paint almost didn’t allow, “I have a birthday present for you,” she dropped Clarke’s hand to open a pocket on her trousers, “I read that Polisians receive gifts on the anniversary of their births, so I have been looking,” she came up with a very small, flat box, and her green eyes took on a nervous edge.

“Your guests, I think, may have brought you others, I do not know. And they are far grander, maybe,” she swallowed lightly, and Clarke’s heart melted even further, because Lexa started to ramble, “But I-, yes. I want to uhm, give it to you anyway. I did not want you to think I do not try to honor your culture. And even though today is your coronation, I do not forget about your birthday. Though, again, I know it is not so special, I just- I wanted to. Clarke,”

The blonde was looking at her in absolute awe, and Lexa ducked her head, her stomach felt full of caged birds. In silence, she opened the box and offered its contents to the owner of her heart.

Clarke looked, and picked up a curled ribbon. It was silken against her fingers, and the loveliest of blues. Well made, the careful eye of a noble-bred woman knowing it might even be real Egyptian silk. Lexa watched her appraisal with anxious eyes. And since she had apparently not embarrassed herself enough, her mouth opened once again.

“I saw it in the market, and it reminded me of you,” she explained, Clarke’s eyes moving to her own. For once, she couldn’t read the beautifully expressive features, “B-Because sometimes your hair falls in your eyes while you work, and I know it must irritate, because you wash the dirt off your face from where you have wiped your hair back almost every night. And this was just the right blue of your eyes, Clarke, and so I took the money I had promised to use to buy you a blanket and spent it on this, instead. I am sorry. I only thought- I thought it was beautiful, and so it must be yours. Clarke,”

She breathed, close to panic, her eyes shifting between the ribbon and Clarke’s eyes.

Until Clarke wrapped her arms around her and held to the taller woman like she would disappear. Stunned, Lexa dropped the small box and placed her hands back around Clarke. The woman pressed her face into Lexa’s tunic collar, longing for the softness of her cotton shift. The one that was warmed by sunlight and smelled of Lexa. But when Lexa moved, she moved to fully embrace her, and it was like the very Earth bending to catch her.

“I love it, Lex,” Clarke breathed into the stiff shirt, her body pressed against the solidness of Lexa’s torso, “Thank you so much. I will wear it all the time, if you promise to braid it into my hair,”

Lexa’s mind whirled. Clarke wouldn’t know what she had just said. How could she? Instead, her heart pretended she did, and glowed.

“I promise,”

Her face was low enough to catch the smell of Clarke’s hair, all soap and morning dew. In contrast, the cold coronet burned where the point of a golden leaf cut into her jaw. Lexa would rather be gutted than move. A small cut was nothing.

“Your Grace,” a soft voice called, and Clarke released the woman enough to look over to her lady in waiting, Octavia’s head bowed respectfully, “Your Uncle, the King, is asking after you,”

“Right,” Clarke said, her throat constricted. She looked to Lexa, and the woman gave her a controlled smile. Clarke returned it, absent control, “Dance with me again?”

Lexa dipped her head, and watched Clarke walk away.

“Thank you, Octavia,” she said softly, her eyes still on the corridor Clarke disappeared down, “You do not know the joy her happiness brings me,”

The woman laughed, her posture relaxing as she studied the handsome woman.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she smirked, “The Countess of Lorraine, the Baroness of Würtemburg, and a dozen ladies of the French and English courts have all expressed interest in being your dance partner tonight,”

Lexa’s eyes snapped to her, alarmed. The woman laughed, “Fear not. They’re only women,” she floated a hand, “Whereas you seem to be more than,” The mentioned woman straightened, fidgeting with her gloves. Octavia frowned, “Don’t do that. Nobility don’t get nervous. Hands behind your back. Taller. Heels together. Good. Now tip your chin? Perfect,”

“Octavia, this is… uncomfortable,” the now aristocratic woman grumbled.

The girl shrugged, “I never said nobility made any sense. Come on. Raven’s been acting as your Lady and I don’t doubt she’s close to a fit,”

Lexa wanted to smile at the mental image.

Food had been served along the walls of the banquet hall, and the guests were well at home, laughing and cheering. Lexa spotted the beautiful, blue-eyed Duchess engaged in conversation with the King himself, Dukes of his lesser provinces accompanied.

“Count Welf, was it?”

Lexa startled, looking to see a very pretty woman at her side. She wore a circlet of silver in her dark blonde hair, and a twinkle in her forward brown eyes. Her lips formed around a strange accent Lexa couldn’t place.

She executed a bow, reaching to kiss the offered hand lightly.

“I apologize, my Lady, I cannot say we have met before,” she said lowly, trying not to give her nerves away. Purposefully, she thickened her accent and her voice rasped dimly.

The woman seemed to pause from some kind of awe, but she regained herself and smiled, “I am Daphne Scheibner, Princess of Teutonic-Prussia,”

Lexa bowed again, “Forgive me, your Highness. I fear I have annexed myself to Trigeda far too long,”

The Princess smiled, “As would I, my Lord, if I had to cross the Baltic. But I am, tragically, not at all known. The youngest daughter, I’m afraid,” she leaned forward slightly, “But few know that that is the most advantageous position,” she laughed, “I believe I will even be able to choose my own husband,”

Her eyes flitted to Lexa’s, and Lexa fought to give nothing away but a small smile, “I could surely agree, your Highness. I too hold that hope,”

The Princess’ eyes flickered, and she inclined her head to the floor of sweeping guests with a teasing smile, “Truly, you danced beautifully with Duchess Griffith. One wonders if it was because of your grace or hers,”

Lexa was not superiorly skilled in courtly games, but she knew subtlety when she heard it. Clarke’s comment ringing in her ears about avoiding suspicion, she dipped her head.

“Allow me to defend myself,” she yielded, “Do you care for a dance, Princess?”

The girl smiled.

* * *

 

A new, heavy sigh broke Clarke from a light conversation between herself and the Earl of Gorizia.

“Something the matter, Lord Howard?” she inquired, holding an olive to her lips. Her conversation partner smiled cheerfully as the arrived man signaled for a cup of wine.

“Lady Clarke, the same problem that every man here is suffering is Lord Howard’s problem, is it not?”

Lord Howard glared lightly, “As a matter of fact, yes, Lord Gabriel,” he turned to the Duchess, “Forgive me for hating your guest, your Grace. But he has apparently stolen all of the interest of the eligible women in this ballroom,”

“Only all of the _attractive_ eligible women, Lord Howard,” Gabriel supplied.

Clarke raised an eyebrow, “I admit myself quite confused, my Lords,”

Howard gestured across the hall, a tall, slender figure surrounded by three women in fine dress, “Lord Alexander,” he exasperated, “Never so charming a man were ever crafted by God, apparently,” he sighed.

Mirth evident, Gabriel responded, “I counted, and he’s been approached by half of the court. The gossip is that Princess Daphne and he are getting along famously,”

Whatever Lord Howard bemoaned, Clarke missed, as her eyes were focused solely on the sight of Lexa, the Princess of Prussia on her arm, and watching the woman with stoically patient eyes as the Princess prattled on. Something in her chest jolted violently, and she tore her gaze away.

“Surely,” she smiled at the near-blows the men had come to, “Two debonair Lords such as you can compare in footwork?”

“That’s true,” Howard agreed with a brightened smile, “Lady Florence told me that Alexander himself admitted to not knowing how to dance a galliard,”

Clarke felt like groaning. Of course Lexa wouldn’t know how to dance the galliard. She had never taught her. The galliard was all the rage, ladies positively up in arms about the flamboyant dance.

“Is that so?” Gabriel said, surprised, “I wonder then, what is a dance from Trigeda?”

“An excellent question!” Howard nearly bellowed. He drained his cup and set it firmly on the table, “A question I want answered!” And before Clarke could stop him, he had made his way over to the gathering. She exchanged a glance with Lord Gabriel, who shrugged and gestured.

“Shall we?”

Clarke sighed and nodded, a terrible dread in her stomach.

Drawing closer, the Princess Daphne noticed her presence and released the captured arm.

“Your Grace,” she inclined her head with the rest, Lexa a half beat behind.

“Princess,” Clarke greeted genially, “Lord Alexander, may I introduce my friends, Lord Gabriel, Earl of Gorizia, and Lord Howard, Earl of Lanshire. My Lords, Count Alexander of Trigeda and the Princess Daphne of Teutonic-Prussia,”

Greetings exchanged, Clarke tried desperately to signal Lexa with her eyes as Lord Howard opened his mouth.

“You’ll forgive me, Lord Alexander, but my friend and I couldn’t help but wonder,” he nodded graciously, “What would a dance of Trigeda be?”

Clarke closed her eyes briefly.

“It is the _keyrondanz_ ,” came the mild, accented voice, “Though I doubt it would be appropriate here, Lord Howard,”

The man’s mouth parted minutely, looking into the eyes of the exotic Count. He ran a hand through his long hair and cleared his throat, “An interesting enough response, Sir. Pray, tell us why,”

Clarke searched the taller woman’s handsome visage for a sign of hesitation, and she wondered at how this could be the same person who had so nervously gifted her a ribbon. The same soothing roughness of Lexa’s accent, so foreign sounding, met her ears again.

“The positioning, for one,” Lexa held her hands behind her back rigidly, “And the nature of the required partner. It is a dance of trust,”

“Ah,” Howard replied, clearly confused.

“Alexander,” the Princess declared, “I do wish you would show us this dance! What was it called again? A kearon dance?”

“ _Keyrondanz_ ,” she repeated.

“What does that mean in Arkadian? Show us, please?” Her demand was met with a chorus of agreement from the listening audience, as well as the two Lords.

Lexa’s green, so green, eyes met Clarke’s. To her near shock, Lexa’s head dipped in deference, those clever eyes sparkling, “If the Duchess would allow me one more dance,”

“Of course,”

The Princess looked put out, and Clarke spared a moment to notice the burning in her chest quenched satisfactorily. Lexa had walked away to converse with the band, and she seemed to be struggling in her communication.

“This is rather exciting,” someone behind her said, and Clarke ignored the ensuing conversations.

After a while, Lexa returned to her, all grace and discipline. She offered Clarke an arm, and she took it without thinking. Guiding her to the edge of the floor, Lexa waited for the ongoing saltarello to finish.

“So. What _does_ _keyrondanz_ mean?” Clarke murmured quietly, her inquiry faux-uninterested. For the first time that evening, Lexa laughed lightly.

“It means,” she whispered back, her tones still that rasping accent, “The lovers’ dance,”

Clarke nearly choked.

“Clarke,” the woman muttered, “It is our dance, you will see. Trust me, please?”

The blonde chanced a look at her, the war paint hardening her features but not her eyes.

“Always,” she promised.

The music started, unfamiliar to the floor. Once it cleared, Lexa stepped out, and bowed to the Duchess. A curtsy, and Clarke stepped into the familiar space of Lexa’s front. The attendants broke out in murmurs as her hand slid into Lexa’s upturned one, and her other resting on her shoulder. Lexa’s free hand came to rest lightly as high as possible on Clarke’s back.

At the downbeat of a stringed instrument, Lexa moved her just as Clarke knew; all she had to do was follow.

Suddenly, it was only the two of them, Lexa smiling and spinning her to and fro in the middle of the Southern field, the sun warm and sky bright. Lexa’s hum of some pretend melody guiding their sweeping steps. Her eyes never broke, and her hand never left her own. They were made of graceful lines and fluid circles. Clarke suppressed a smile at the memories.

At the close, Lexa bowed and kissed her hand.

And the watching audience erupted in cheers and applause.

“Well, damn,” Lord Howard sighed, looking around, “I suppose I know when I have been bested,”

At their return, Clarke commented about the lateness of the hour, and every Lord within earshot insisted she retire after her trying day. Her blue eyes watched Lexa restrain herself from laughing, a minute tick of her lips. On the vineyard, she would be just starting dinner, and Lexa knew it.

Excusing herself, Clarke caught Octavia’s eye and gestured.

“Your Grace,”

“I don’t really care how you do it, but get Lexa out of there,” she half-begged, “And send one of the cooks to my room. I’ve got special instructions for our dinner,”

Octavia raised an eyebrow at the plural, but didn’t comment, “Of course,” she said instead, and swept off.

Clarke breathed deeply and left to her rooms. She passed the corridor leading to the west wing, and already heard the raucous party starting up of Lord Monty and Lord Jasper. She laughed. The French amazed her.

She tried to read or work on provincial reports for nearly a full hour before realizing none of it would distract her from how much she wanted to see Lexa. She talked to Octavia, and ordered dinner, trying to occupy her time. When a light knock came to her door, she practically leapt to answer it.

Lexa.

She smiled, “You look better as a woman,”

Lexa returned her smile bashfully, and Clark moved to let her into her rooms. The girl had washed free of war paint and unbraided her hair. A light nightshift and robe covered her, the stiff posture long forgotten.

Right behind her, a servant swept in with a large tray for their dinner and placed it on the table between the two fireside sofas. Thanking him, the man then exited and they were alone.

“Congratulations, Clarke,” Lexa said into the silence, her eyes moving to the enormous open bureau, all kinds of glittering jewel seated in velvet. But Clarke nodded, the newly added golden coronet plush and polished in the center. It occurred to her then; Lexa had probably never even seen such jewelry.

“It doesn’t change anything, Lex,” she suddenly felt the need to say, watching Lexa move about her rooms. She seemed so foreign in that moment, and Clarke wanted nothing more than for her to feel at home.

The green eyes flicked to her, and returned to where her fingers were ghosting over the intricate inlay in the wall of Clarke’s large, vaulted-ceiling bedroom.

“It does, Clarke,” she said simply, smiling lightly, “But it does not change who you are. I know that,”

The blonde smiled, relief spilling into her heart.

“Are you hungry? I’m starving,”

Lexa nodded, and joined her on the handsome couch as she unveiled their meal.

“I had the cooks make wild boar especially for us,” she proclaimed as Lexa’s eyes widened, “I’ve been dying to try Cruzcovian food, and this was the closest I could get. Tell me how it is, won’t you?”

The taller girl smiled brilliantly.

“Clarke, I have not had my people’s food since I was a girl. I am happy even at the thought,” she met the blue eyes in front of her, and thought distantly that they were more beautiful than sapphires. Now, she knew for certain.

“Still, I wanted to try. I also had Cruzcovian furs imported. Just ask Raven or someone, and they’ll be brought to your room,” she finished, her fingers exploring the plates in front of her.

“Thank you, Clarke,” Lexa smiled, “You are too kind to me,”

The woman scoffed, “Not after tonight,” she teased, “And for the next two days,” Lexa’s eyebrows pinched, and the blonde glinted a terrible wickedness in her eyes, “You can’t have forgotten? The celebrations are three days long! Many people are leaving, but my father’s closest friends stay. And after the scene you made tonight, everyone will expect Lord Alexander to be among them,”

Lexa’s mouth gaped.

“But- Clarke-“

Clarke laughed, shoving a bit of black bread between her full, slightly open lips.

“Calm down, Lex. It’ll be fine. There’s going to be some riding, some archery, chess, you don’t fence, do you?”

“Sport fencing?”

“Mhm,”

“I- No. My father taught me to fight, and I spar with Gustus and Indra occasionally,”

“Oh ho,” Clarke glittered, the pair continuing to eat, “I think I’d like to see that some time,”

“I do not do things simply to entertain you, Clarke,” Lexa scorned playfully.

“Of course you do,” the blonde returned, “Why else would you have thickened your accent so?”

Lexa rolled her eyes, then smiled and dropped her voice, husking in that sharp, smoothly biting inflection, “It is the voice of my people, and it will not suffer to be mocked,”

Clarke was laughing by the end of it, and she caught her breath, happiness fluttering in her chest as she watched Lexa eat, “You see, Lex?” she said softly, “It doesn’t have to be different, you being here,”

Lexa slowed her movements, cocking an eyebrow, “I would think dressing as a man were different enough,”

“You know what I mean. I only want you just as we met. How we are on the vineyard,”

The brunette felt her heart jolt, “I want that too,” she swallowed, her eyes unconsciously taking in every detail of the woman’s beautiful face.

Clarke smirked, “Then shall I cook you dinner and keep your bed? Both are always cold without me,”

Lexa laughed, “Well, you have already taken care of one,” she gestured in front of her, “Though I suspect you are more comfortable here, than cramped with me on a, what did you call it? A pile of dead animals?”

Clarke huffed, “I had been irritated at Elle when I said that and you know it. I’ve more than grown used to that pile of dead animals,” she focused on her next bite, “I sleep better at the vineyard with you, anyway,”

Lexa almost choked. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a cup of what she hoped was water.

“With me?” she repeated stupidly. Then, her heart overpowered her useless mind, “I do, too. Uhm. Sleep better, with you nearer,” She could have bitten her tongue off.

But Clarke looked delighted.

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight, then? No use in wasting a good night’s rest when it’s in front of you,”

Lexa couldn’t breathe. Instead, she nodded and continued eating. Clarke tried to measure her reaction, deciding she was selfish enough to not care. She stood and crossed to her door, opening it to find the girl stationed in the hall.

A few moments later, Lexa’s bed furs had been brought in, the thick Persian duvet taken out, dinner carried away, and windows drawn closed. Clarke slipped into the folds of the familiar material as Lexa blew out the candles.

“You need more of them,” she whispered into the night, quickly joining Clarke in the enormous bed.

Clarke expelled air, “I don’t. You use candles in excess. Really, you’re too luxurious about them,” she mocked, and Lexa huffed a quiet ‘I am not’ before they settled.

Unconsciously, they had slid to the center of the bed, their mutual body heat within reaching distance. As she closed her eyes, balance returned to Lexa’s senses, her overwhelming day tapering into memory. In rhythm, she breathed in the comforting smell of oiled wood, soft pelt, and Clarke. The last thing she remembered as she half-awake hours later was soft hair brushing her face as Clarke rolled into her arms.

Finally at ease, she slept.

* * *

 

On the last night of her birthday celebrations, Lexa had restrained real mirth when Clarke informed her that she had to bid the French ambassadors a proper farewell. To her horror, Clarke had pleaded she accompany her as a maid, and not Alexander. Inevitably, she relented.

That night, drawing open the door to the French’s chambers, Clarke was immediately surrounded by noise, light, smells, and visuals – oh the visuals. While the wild music and mixed screams of laughter didn’t overwhelm her, nor did the colorful rugs, nor the cloying smell of incense, the visuals made her head reel, and she bit her lip and glanced at Lexa.

The girl’s face was drawn pale and taut, her lips parted as she stared around her. Clarke breathed deeply and reached to take her hand gently.

“Would you like to go?”

Lexa reeled and swiveled to focus too intently on Clarke’s face, and only her face.

“No,” she said, her throat scratching, “We may stay and speak with your friends, Clarke. I am fine,”

Clarke doubted that very, very much.

All around them, people were fucking. Wet sorts of sounds and various speeds of intercourse writhed on the plush couches and rug-lined floors. Men and women, men and men, women and women, and most often more than two.

Just as she turned to notice a bowl full of trifle be smeared across a woman’s breasts to the delight of the three people who surrounded her, she made up her mind. Poor Lexa.

“Come on, Lex,” she tugged the hand in hers to break the entranced stare of Lexa’s eyes. In truth, she feared for Lexa’s comfort level, but she also feared the pull of jealousy that stroked across her heart at the expression on the brunette’s face, “Let’s leave, I can talk to Monty-“

“Clarke!”

And then Monty was there, a beast’s collar round his neck and his cheeks flush with wine. She nearly stepped backwards, but the man smiled kindly and took her hand.

“I’m so glad you could come! Do you like what Jasper’s done with the atmosphere?” He spoke calmly and quickly, an oiled and incredibly nude man reaching them and handing Monty a drink like it weren’t the most bizarre thing, “It’s our last night of celebration and Jasper spent a fortune, but worth it, don’t you think?”

Clarke attempted a smile. While she wasn’t the most vocal proponent of the French Ambassadors’ lifestyle, it was politically hilarious to find she wasn’t allowed to frown upon it.

“It’s quite the party,”

Monty grinned broadly, before noticing Clarke’s companion.

“And who might this be?” he curled, surprising them both by speaking directly to Lexa.

“A-“ the brunette stuttered, “Alexa,”

“Alexa,” Monty repeated, as if tasting it. He eyed the woman genially before his response was interrupted.

“She looks Cruzcovian,”

“Jasper!” Monty crowed, flinging himself into the arms of the wiry Lord, his moustache trimmed to perfection and being employed as the only covering on himself.

Clarke grimaced tightly, blinking rapidly to clear the visual sear.

“Lord Jasper,” she greeted. The man belched.

“Am I correct? Cruzcovian? _Oi! Apporte-moi l’étalon_!” he snapped poorly. Clarke cocked her head, her French rusty but very good.

A moment later, a tan-skinned woman wearing only trousers, suspenders, and breast bindings appeared before her Lord. The man simply muttered something and pointed at Lexa, Clarke trying not to frown as she drew closer.

“I am Luna,” she crooned, and Clarke felt a chill crawl down her spine at the husking, thick, syrup of her Cruzcovian accent. Her blue eyes watched as the haze cleared from Lexa’s eyes long enough for them to brighten in surprised interest, and a flurry of Trigedasleng slipped from her lips. The woman, Luna, perked immensely and smiled, leading Lexa away.

The green eyes shot Clarke a helpless look, and Clarke nearly moved to intercept the movement before Lord Jasper’s rude tone overtook her.

“Ah, leave her be, Duchess,” he smirked, “Let the servants have their fun, no? Besides, I’d like to see which one of them winds up on top,”

Monty laughed heartily, his wine spilling.

Clarke breathed deeply and hoped the time passed quickly. It didn’t. By the second passed candle mark and third cup of wine, she excused herself. She had to find Lexa. And once she did, she regretted ever coming.

Because she found Lexa with a kitchen maid straddled on her lap, her hands gripping the chair beneath her with white knuckles. The maid tossed blonde hair and slid her hands up the woman’s shoulders, and moved to descend her face over Lexa’s enraptured own.

Clarke dropped her cup.

“Clarke!” Lexa gasped, ripping her body away from under the maid’s. But Clarke had already left. Frantically, she raced for the doors, holding her skirts as she rushed.

Making it out into the great entrance hall away from the west wing, she barely slowed. Her steps echoed in the grand space, but Clarke could feel her heart beat loudly, painfully, with every footfall away from the brunette chasing her.

“Clarke!”

A hand touched her shoulder, and the blonde spun angrily.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she shouted into Lexa’s stunned, beautiful, stupid, face.

“Clarke. I- I-,” Lexa swallowed, confusion warring with apology on her normally expressionless face, “What?”

Clarke clenched her fists.

“All this time! And you never even told me you were- were, like that!” she gestured wildly to the scene they had left.

Lexa ducked her head, her cheeks set aflame.

“I am sorry,” she whispered painfully. Clarke huffed.

“Why?” she asked stormily.

Lexa looked up, “What?”

The blonde rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Why are you sorry?” She was quickly losing anger as her façade. Her eyes couldn’t erase the sight of Lexa’s lean frame pressed against the other girl’s, and her stomach curdled. They had never really discussed Lexa’s preferences. Clarke knew it was sensitive conversation, and never brought it up, “Tell me why you’re sorry,” she demanded, her blue eyes starting to blur.

Lexa’s eyes widened and if she were more coward than she was, she would have taken a step back. Instead, she set her jaw and fixed an iron hope in her eyes. Clarke couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to. Couldn’t have not answered her if she’d wanted to. She’d been lying to Clarke for far too long.

“I have always been this way,” she started, her voice that towering staccato of honesty that Clarke had always loved to listen to, “I do not know any other way of being. My… condition has always predetermined me to a certain preference. I simply do not care for men in,” she frowned briefly, “that way,” her bravery paused as she searched Clarke’s face, “I prefer women, I think,” she whispered.

Clarke’s chest heaved, and she spoke before she could consider the consequences.

“Do you not prefer me, then?”

Lexa blanched. That was not what she had been bracing for. She opened her mouth to reply, but Clarke continued in a flood of words.

“I’ve been trying to see if you fancied anyone since we met, Lexa! I asked, and then I didn’t, and then I held your hand and taught you to dance, but you never said anything. You showed me your life, and how to live. You just were so perfect and patient, and I never knew but now I do so you have to speak to me, Lexa. Now!”

Clarke was breathing hard, and it was obvious she had made no coherent point, as Lexa was watching her with intense focus. Only to reply with a careful,

“You are upset with me,”

Clarke nearly screamed. But she breathed as deeply as she could, her throat closing and continued on her way to her rooms in a quickstep, painfully aware Lexa was being considerate of her need for physical distance, yet still following her.

Always so gentle.

At the crimson door’s close, Clarke rounded on the taller girl.

“Why did you say you think you prefer women?”

Lexa’s jaw flexed, and Clarke watched in regulated adoration as that pretty pink spread over the bridge of Lexa’s straight nose. She was deeply embarrassed.

“I have no experience to come to a definite statement,” she intoned, her posture as perfect as any other day.

Clarke stalled, but pressed on.

“But you know you don’t like men?”

“Yes,”

“Which means you like women?”

“Yes,”

“Even though you’ve never… kissed one?”

A grimaced pause, “No,”

Clarke considered the beautiful girl in front of her. It was all too Lexa. Even the charmingly unfortunate circumstances. Especially the way Lexa seemed ready to accept some sort of dismissal. Clarke softened.

“Lexa,”

“Yes?” the girl shortened, trying to look calm.

“Me too,”

Lexa paused.

“I do not understand,”

Clarke smiled, striding to the rigid woman, and tentatively touched the back of a fisted hand, “I never had the courage to say anything. But,” she swallowed. She owed Lexa this. Owed her honesty and fearlessness, “I think about you so often I think I’ve gone quite mad,”

Lexa’s lips part minutely in disbelief.

Clarke attempts a smile, “I’ve imagined you and I, together, as a man and woman would be. Except woman and woman,” she tries to read Lexa’s face as she allows a ghost of a curl to her lips, “I want to be with you. In what you might call an incredibly inappropriate, apparently incredibly French, way,”

“Clarke!”

They both jump at the loudness of Lexa’s voice, and the green eyes are wide as they search between Clarke’s blue. Lexa takes her time before continuing.

“Clarke,” she starts, her voice trembling in her attempt at control, “Would you.. would you k-kiss me?”

The fair-haired girl moves without hesitation, sliding two hands into the silken mass of curls, drawing the taller girl down. Lexa braced her breath, and found all of it stolen as the softest sensation of pressure brushed her lips. Before she could even know it fully, it was gone.

Her eyes fluttered open, and Clarke was gazing at her in wonder. Lexa swallowed. Their hearts beat in time, and all they did was stare. No words were found, and all Lexa could do was reach and settle her hands on Clarke’s waist.

Clarke blinked slowly. Lexa’s hands, as strong and steady as ever. The familiar palms seemed to bleed their gentle warmth through the thickness of her dress, the tingle of them spreading through her body.

“Clarke,” Lexa said quietly, her posture bowed to close the distance of Clarke’s tender reach to her face, “I want you to know, I will always be your friend first,”

Clarke traced the high cheekbones with sweet fingers, the cords of muscle on Lexa’s neck relaxing under her touch, “I know that, Lexa. I know,”

The brunette nodded, “Know also, Clarke,” she flexed her jaw, “I never meant to-“

Her courage broke, and Clarke smiled gently. Her chambers were lit by candles, just how Lexa preferred. The warm night air flooded from her open windows and filled her lungs with heart.

“I never meant to fall in love with you, Lexa,” she said softly, “But I did,”

The taller woman swallowed, something close to fear in her eyes, the near-panicked green searching Clarke’s soothing blue. Finding whatever she had been looking for, Lexa’s jaw flexed resolutely, and she nodded to herself. Taking Clarke’s hands away from her face, she kept them in her own and slid to one knee.

“Clarke,” her eyes burned, and the Lady felt her heart tattoo wildly, so fierce was her love for this beautiful, blazing woman, “Clarke, I do not have many things,” she started softly, “But what I own wholly is my heart. And I would be happiest in the world if you were to guard it, for it has long belonged to you. I swear to you upon Mother Earth and all who stand upon her; I am yours. However you may need me,”

Clarke looked upon her with sparkling eyes, her smile too wide to contain, “Lexa,” she laughed through her tears, “I need you to get off the floor and kiss me,”

Lexa did.

And Clarke suddenly knew what the poets wrote about. She felt Lexa in every corner of her heart. Her work-roughened hands caressed her cheeks in something akin to worship, and Clarke felt like a song.

Lexa separated from her and leaned her forehead on the smaller woman’s. She breathed, smiling in perfect contentment.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Lexa hummed, “There is no where else I could be convinced to be,”

Only after Raven had assisted in changing her Lady out of her dress and into her nightgown, did Lexa deign to look up from her perch on Clarke’s bed. At Lexa’s turn, the blonde did not feel such courtesies were necessary, hungry eyes eager to claim they knew Lexa, if only by sight.

The pair slipped into bed, and Clarke didn’t waste a moment before burrowing into Lexa’s warmth, her strong arms wrapping around the blonde protectively.

Clarke looked at the woman, the moonlight just enough.

“If I wake tomorrow, and find this was a dream, I will never forgive you,” she threatened.

Lexa smiled, lowering her head to kiss the blonde softly, a chaste affair of their lips that sent her dizzy.

“If you wake tomorrow and find this all a dream, tell me to not kneel on the floor next time. My trousers are dirty,”

Clarke gasped and playfully slapped at Lexa’s back, while the brunette chuckled. The blonde smiled and pressed a kiss to Lexa’s curled lips.

“Goodnight, Lexa,” she said softly.

“Goodnight, _ai keyron_ ,”

* * *

 

Lord Alexander and the rest of Clarke’s guests left on the third and final day of the new Duchess’ coronation festivities. Lexa, however, stayed a month. In that month, she had never known such happiness was possible to hold in the human heart. They danced and kissed, and ate and kissed, talked, read, walked, rode, played and kissed. They were days of complete bliss.

Lexa loved Clarke, and Clarke loved Lexa.

That’s not to say they didn’t argue. One of the running jests of the castle was the Duchess’ fondness for her lover, and her fondness for quarrelling with her. The topics sometimes light and playful, and sometimes serious and dangerous.

Clarke’s maidenhood was one such particular subject.

“Clarke,” Lexa strained one night, “Clarke,” she gasped for air.

The blonde growled and finally relented, separating her lips from her lover’s, though rolling her hips against Lexa’s hardness beneath her once more for good measure.

“Lexa,” she panted, nearly groaning, “I’ve told you, I’m ready,”

The brunette’s eyes were wide in the darkness, and her body tense as she gripped the sheets beneath her. Clarke sighed as she watched Lexa’s eyes clear and her jaw flex in determination.

“And I have told you, that we are not,”

Clarke slid off of Lexa and onto the bed, lying on her side under the bed sheets. She had succeeded in getting Lexa down to her small clothes, but no further. Something she has always loved about Lexa was her sense of chivalry. The true intentions that radiated from even her littlest finger made Clarke dizzy with love.

Now, it was the bane of her existence.

“I want you,” she whispered.

Lexa turned her head, the tendons of her neck flexing in a fashion that made Clarke bite her lip.

“You have me,”

At Clarke’s lack of response, the brunette considered the argument done for the night. It was only the ninth or so time Clarke had tried to initiate this conversation in this particular way, as apparently the blonde didn’t have any interest in the finer aspects of debate.

The next day, after a long meeting with the castle’s letter writers, she found Lexa in the library, her nose buried in a thick book. They had established themselves something of a reading nest, two separate piles of books around a plethora of furs and pillows. She almost sighed at the pang of arousal the woman sent through her. Even now, Clarke wanted to push her down and have her way with the brunette. Slowly, gently.

How was it possible that even in stillness, even in a library, Lexa managed to elicit such a sexual wanting? Clarke hummed as she swept to the woman’s side, pushing the thought away.

“Afternoon,” she greeted warmly, bending to kiss the at-ease woman.

Lexa seemed to startle and perk up immensely, her slow smile spreading across her lips.

“Hello,” she said softly, returning the chaste kiss.

Clarke settled next to her and they shared a happy look before the blonde selected a book out of her own piles and started to read.

It was a book on Cruzcovian culture, and Clarke narrowed her attention. On a whim, she quickly found her way to the marriage index. Not many things were clear, but she immediately noted the author’s incredible conservatism when it came to issues related to sex. She put the book down, her eyes wandering to Lexa.

Of course.

She could strike her own forehead.

“Lex,” she started hesitantly, and the reading green eyes flickered up to her, curious, “I want to talk about this again,”

The brunette merely inhaled deeply, and closed her book. Clarke’s heart gave at the patience in her movements.

“Okay,” Lexa murmured, “Clarke,”

The blonde settled, drawing slightly closer as to clasp Lexa’s hand in hers, “I’m sorry for pushing you if you were uncomfortable,” she rasped, studying the lines in her farmer’s hands, “I always thought that you were trying to protect me, and I only just realized that maybe if was you protecting yourself. If I had known you didn’t want me like that, I never would have –,”

Her blue eyes jumped to Lexa’s furrowed greens at the quick tug on her hand.

“I want you,” Lexa said lowly, her voice insistent, “Please never think I resist for lack of wanting,” Clarke studied her face for some form of hesitation, and Lexa huffed, “You feel it,” her cheeks colored, “At night. My want of you,” she diverted her eyes at the grin at Clarke’s lips. She expelled air shortly, “So do not think I do not desire you in every way, Clarke. I do,”

The blonde’s small moment of smugness faded.

“Then I’m confused, Lex. You want me, and I want you. You aren’t Catholic and neither am I. We’re already technically breaking Arkadian law by being women, so I can’t understand it. Please. Help me understand?”

The brunette pursed her lips together and took her turn in studying Clarke’s palm in hers. Clarke waited. After a while, Lexa breathed.

“I love you, _ai keyron_ ,” she started, “Very much. In my culture, when we find things – people- we love, it is not often. And we must vow to take care of them. To not endanger them, not soil them,” she looked at Clarke significantly, “To lie together,” she shook her head, “it would do both of these things. I am a farmer, _hodness_. And you are a Duchess. These weeks with you have been bliss, but we cannot pretend we can be together the way we want. And if we were to- to,” Lexa blushed and pleaded, “You may become with child, Clarke. And I cannot allow that to happen,”

Clarke breathed in the woman’s explanation. She had all but promised to not be upset with Lexa’s answer, but she still found herself frustrated.

“Lexa,” she tried calmly, “I chose you. Just you. And you chose me. There isn’t any other, and I’ll not stand by while you protect me from something so insignificant as the future,” she wrinkled her nose, “As much as I appreciate you trying to keep an honest woman of me, I’m afraid you’re it for me darling. And if you don’t take me, we shall both die maidens,”

Lexa smiled, and Clarke relaxed, kissing the captured hand.

“I want nothing more than to belong to you in every way. No one else matters, Lex. Can you not see?”

Lexa watched her with stained-glass eyes.

“I want to bond you,” she suddenly blurted, fully aware Clarke no idea what she was talking about, and Clarke merely blinked.

“Sure, darling,” she said good naturedly, “But after tonight, yes?”

“Yes,” Lexa sighed, leaning to rest her forehead on Clarke’s.

* * *

 

Clarke knew it would be a little awkward. She knew that she was Arkadian – sex to her had been a known topic of necessity, though treated with the highest modesty. Arkadians were not heathens, their liberalism nowhere near the French, but Clarke knew also that Lexa was Trigedan. Lexa was sexually meek and shy, the kind of telling hesitation that came from little to no exposure to a subject her people considered close to taboo to address.

And so Clarke knew it would be a little awkward.

But she didn’t expect the swell of love her heart would suffer at the adorable shifts of tense movement Lexa tried to relax into. They were lying on the bed, in naught but their small clothes. Lexa’s breasts were still bound, and Clarke wore her dressing gown. It was light enough to set her skin flame.

“Clarke,” Lexa hoarsed over the crackling fire, “I- You are sure, Clarke?”

The blonde smiled and breathed in the deep cleanness of Lexa’s skin, soaked in the worried adoration in her green eyes.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, fingers lightly scratching Lexa’s hair soothingly.

The brunette swallowed and nodded above her, and slid her hand to the cream of Clarke’s thigh. Clarke was always so soft.

And soon, through honey thick kisses, they were naked. Clarke’s eyes positively glowed as she observed what she could of Lexa. The girl was beautiful. Her skin was tan, and the muscled sculpt of her lean frame slid and shifted in mouth-watering coils as she moved. As for Lexa, Clarke was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“I want to kiss you,” she whispered in awe.

Clarke chuckled and reached to pull Lexa’s lips to hers. The brunette jumped at the press of Clarke’s warm breasts against her own. The blonde chuckled against her lips, and Lexa gave a slow, low, whine.

“How are you so calm?”

Clarke granted her another kiss before replying.

“Because. I love you, and you love me. This is going to be everything we want it to be, because it will be,” she gave a minute shrug, “Everything will be wonderful, you’ll see,” she smoothed over Lexa’s cheekbone, “Just keep talking to me, hm?”

Lexa watched her.

Sometimes, Lexa felt like she should give sacrifices of crop to the goddesses of her homeland. To any of them, all of them, for giving her Clarke.

The brunette nodded and brushed the sweetest of kisses yet to Clarke’s lips. The blonde hummed, her tone dropping as Lexa’s hardness brushed her thigh. Lexa pulled back and bit her lip, glancing down to their groins, and back up to Clarke’s eyes sporadically.

Clarke chuckled but nodded encouragingly. Lexa forced her relax and settled over her deepest love, one hand by Clarke’s shoulder, the other reaching to cautiously grip the base of her prick. She swallowed as she stared at Clarke’s nethers. She nearly jumped when Clarke’s fingers brushed the back of her hand, and the blonde soothingly directed her to where she wanted her most.

Placing the tip at Clarke’s entrance, Lexa pulled in a slow breathe. Clarke was so hot, and so wet. She gave a dust of a kiss to Clarke’s lips and carefully pushed herself inside.

“Slow,” Lexa seemed to chant to herself, and Clarke curled her fingers through the soft hair at Lexa’s neck affectionately.

Agonizingly strange and pleasurable moments passed, and Clarke’s body tightened around the intruding stretch. She swallowed a whine lightly and settled on relaxing as quickly as possible. Though she was prepared, Lexa was apparently not. The brunette moaned and shook above her, and Clarke bit her tongue from reprimanding her darling’s sudden movements.

Looking down quickly, Lexa’s eyes blinked out of her shocked state to notice the alarming speck of color she hadn’t expected.

“Clarke. There is blood, Clarke. I am hurting you,” Lexa was panting and worried, but pleasure clouded the immediate alarm of her reflexes. Clarke was grateful for it.

“It’s alright,” she crooned hoarsely, “It doesn’t hurt,” she said; she lied.

Lexa grunted her disbelief. Clarke breathed a laugh as her face twisted in a twinge of too-much pressure.

“Just, don’t move, darling. It’ll be gone soon,” she panted. Her maidenhood was broken, officially. And Lexa had gifted herself in its stead. Lexa’s cock was inside of her – filling her, forcing her to readjust what her body previously knew. Clarke had never felt closer to her lover.

Truly, her lover in the Arkadian sense, now.

“Lexa,” Clarke groaned, the fullness inside of her swelling into a pulling, begging, want for something more, “Lexa, m-move,”

The brunette nodded in amazement, and then her eyes hazed as she carefully rocked inside of her love. They joined in a harmonizing moan, Lexa’s deeper in pitch.

“Oh Clarke. You feel so,” Lexa gasped as she pulled further out and pushed back in, instinct taking control, “so good, _ai niron_ ,”

“Lexa,” Clarke groaned, her insides somehow relaxing but coiling all at once, “Lex!” As they rocked and moved, moaned and fucked, Clarke felt Lexa’s skin slick with sweat and exertion. Incredibly, she was enjoying herself immensely.

“Lex,” she panted, “Kiss me,”

Lexa did. She fought to maintain her deeply pleasurable rhythm, and Clarke groaned into her mouth when their lips broke apart. The brunette forgot to yelp when Clarke accidently bit her bottom lip at a particularly vicious thrust.

“C-Clarke,” Lexa moaned, her face clouding with something close to pain, “I am- I need- _skrish!_ Ah _\- jok!”_ She buried her face in Clarke’s shoulder briefly, a stream of curses in her mother tongue spilling from her lips.

Clarke couldn’t breath, her soul seeming to explode out of her body as Lexa’s cock slid in and out of her at an increasingly rapid pace, the solid length filling her up in a hot, heady, dirty and _needed_ way.

“Lexa!” she moaned, pleading for something she didn’t know. Not until Lexa shifted above her, the woman’s hips tilting just enough for Clarke’s insides to feel a tight, hot, wash of perfection. She screamed at the feeling inside of her, wrapping her legs around Lexa as she shivered from head to toe, her spine arching as her insides clamped down on Lexa’s dick.

Lexa growled her pleasure as Clarke gasped.

“Clarke,” Lexa grunted, her eyes sweeping over the sight of Clarke reaching sexual bliss. It was too much. The heat too much. She nearly yelled as she forced herself out of the ecstasy that was Clarke’s cunt.

“Lexa!” Clarke complained, her eyes snapping open to watch Lexa’s hot, beautiful length surface from her depths, dripping wet and taut. A single pass from Lexa’s hand, and she watched in wonder as Lexa’s seed spilled out in powerful spurts; over her thighs, onto her stomach, even reaching her heaving breasts.

Clarke’s heart thundered in shock.

An expression Lexa herself wore.

“Clarke-“ she said, horrified at herself, “I am so- I- sorry- _Clarke_ ,” she nearly whimpered. Clarke quickly darted forward to grasp Lexa around the neck, and guided her to her lips.

After a calming kiss, Lexa seemed to come out of a sort of haze. Clarke stroked her thumbs over her face, and smiled slowly. Another loving kiss, and she rubbed her nose lightly over Lexa’s.

“Get that wash rag from the tub and come back to me,” she whispered.

Lexa’s face lit, and she gingerly climbed off the bed to get the cloth. Clarke watched her, the lean muscle sliding gorgeously over Lexa’s physique. Her reappearance was less exciting, as her lover used the cloth to cover her modesty.

Lexa climbed back into their bed, wiping her seed off of Clarke’s body with flaming ears. The blonde merely relaxed and observed the care Lexa handled her with. She took the cloth and threw it, beckoning Lexa into her. The brunette had frozen, but jumped at the opening.

Clarke laughed as Lexa nuzzled into her neck.

“Clarke,” she sighed, kissing the warm skin, “Love you. Clarke,”

The blonde smiled, holding Lexa preciously. Her fingers traced Lexa’s back, the patterns of every star shape she’d ever seen, recreated onto her lover. The woman seemed to grow heavier and heavier as sleep crept into her limbs. Still, she fought for chivalry’s sake.

“Clarke, you are not… hurt?” Lexa tried quietly. Clarke’s chest tightened with love.

“No,” she whispered back into Lexa’s chestnut locks. Truthfully, she did throb a little bit between her legs, but it was more like at the memory of Lexa inside her.

Lexa nodded against her, “And you… are satisfied?”

Clarke laughed lightly.

“Did you not hear how _satisfied_ you made me?”

Lexa chuckled a sleepy, lovely little vibration, and Clarke sank into her in bliss.

“I love you, Lexa,” she whispered into their self-made heaven.

Lexa nudged her affectionately.

“I love you,”

* * *

 

The birds sang gently, the only sounds in the cottage until Clarke wiggled slightly, fingering the pretty corset Indra had given her.

“Please, Clarke? I am nearly done,”

The blonde huffed, “I want to look at you,” she whined, and Lexa’s answering chuckle set a smile on her lips, “And I read about this. You’re not even supposed to see me until the ceremony,”

Lexa scoffed, “You cannot read Trigedasleng,”

“Fine, Indra read it to me. Still! I want the things I want, and I want to see you,” she finalized, that childish sort of demanding that never failed to make Lexa’s eyes roll.

“Finished,” the woman drolled, and Clarke spun excitedly to wrap her arms around her lover’s neck smoothly. Lexa couldn’t help but return her smile.

“You remember my coronation?” Clarke breathed to her lips. Lexa nodded against her forehead, “I wasn’t as nervous for that than I am right now,”

“You,” a small kiss, “are silly,” Lexa purred, hands tracing Clarke’s sides, “Your tattoo will be over quickly, but mine will take a while. Into the late night,”

“Will our bonding be cursed forever if I fall asleep?”

Lexa chuckled, kissing the smirk away from Clarke’s lips, “No. In fact, sleep. When you wake, Indra and Gustus will be gone, and I plan to have you,” she drew Clarke’s hips sensually against her own, “every way I can. Again and again,”

Her eyes had deepened in love and lust, and Clarke felt her stomach uncurl in warmth and want.

“Enough!”

They jumped apart, and Indra glared from the entranceway, “There is time enough later,” she grunted, stepping forward to observe Clarke’s braided hair. Nodding satisfactorily, she turned to Lexa, “Go. You must have Gustus fix your braids and apply your paint,”

Lexa had scampered off, and Clarke sighed as she watched Indra set up the delicate tools she had brought with her. Nerves wracked her, and she unconsciously rubbed her collarbones.

At first, Clarke had laughed at the idea of a sharpened piece of bone stabbing into her skin hundreds of times, each with fresh ink and intent. It was barbaric. And it would not ever fade from her skin. What was the point?

“Never,” she had laughed dismissively in response. What kind of question was that? ‘Will you take the marks?’

She may as well have slapped Lexa.

The woman had taken it, fingers closing around the thin white rods in her hand. Clarke had looked up from where she had been shucking grapes from the stem. She had watched as the stricken expression on her lover’s face flattened into humiliated fury.

When Lexa left the barn, she did not return that day. Clarke had gone to see Indra.

“It would be the same as your weddings,” the woman had explained softly at dusk, “There is a ceremony to put words to your bond, but the tattoos are what matters to our people. They symbolize that bonding; love- it is not always gentle. Some times love is pain and bite. Being bonded is discipline and work, but worth it. The tattoos show permanence and sacrifice. They show that your _houmon_ is etched into your very skin,”

Clarke breathed tightly from where she had clenched her teeth, tears already tracking down her cheeks, “I broke her heart, didn’t I?”

Indra had looked at her in hardened scrutiny.

“Yes,”

Clarke choked around half of a sob, her hands clenched. She hadn’t meant to, but she should have known. Lexa was so proud of her heritage.

“You should know,” Indra had said reluctantly, “It is common for the father of a woman to find and fight a rejected bond-offerer. If the offerer plans to ask again, he will not fight back. To prove he would bleed for his intended,”

Blue eyes clouded, “But my father is dead,”

Indra nodded, her eyes uncharacteristically hesitant and apologetic, “Lexa asked Gustus to go riding with her this morning. I’m sorry. I did not know,”

“Oh, Lexa,”

When Lexa returned, she was unconscious, slung over Samuel’s back, and Gustus was crying harder than even Clarke.

“It is forgiven,” she had calmed the large man, her eyes on Lexa’s split lips, “I know what she asked of you,” she looked to the man intently, tears staining her eyes and words, “It will not be necessary again,”

Several tense days and an infuriatingly calm shouting match later, and Clarke was drawing stars on Lexa’s bare back once more, a smile pulling the woman’s lips.

Clarke kissed the shoulder on top of her gently, “Tomorrow,” she had cooed, “Let us be bonded tomorrow,”

And so it was.

At Lexa and Gustus’ arrival, Clarke’s heart fluttered. Soon, she found herself clasping hands with Lexa and repeating some words in Trigedasleng. At one point, Lexa washed and dried her feet, and Indra tied a ribbon over their hands. Then, Lexa was smiling and leading her to the table and chair, seating her, and helping her expose the pronounced bones at her chest.

Indra took her place, and took up her utensils.

“Just look at me,” Lexa whispered, her hand never leaving Clarke’s own. “See only me,”

It was hours later, and less pain than Clarke imagined before Indra sat back and dropped the pointed bones and ink in her hand.

“That’s all?” Clarke asked hesitantly, “It’s finished?” Indra rolled her eyes and stood, stretching. Gustus chuckled softly in the corner. Lexa, Clarke saw, hadn’t looked away from Indra’s hands in hours. Now, though, she jolted upright and hand Clarke’s hands tightly, seemingly at a loss for words.

Clarke smiled.

 _“Ai keryon laik yun. Ai hod yu in,_ ”

Lexa smiled, her eyes so lit and brilliant, Clarke would have done anything to see it stay. She took Lexa’s place, watching Indra sit again and position her lover. Her _houmon_.

Gustus offered her a cool, wet rag, and she wiped it gently over her collarbones, amazed when the tender skin didn’t smear. Indra had told her the designs were meant to mimic the war paint of one’s bonded. Her own, two scythe-like shapes starting in the center and pointed out, were almost blue against her dark skin, and Clarke now saw the replica on Gustus’ face.

Clarke’s were done very well. Four stripes decorated each collar, eight in total, each longer and larger than the previous one, the fourth tapering and slightly smaller. Just as Lexa’s paint is.

Clarke was thrilled. It would never be seen at court, but it meant the earth and sky to her lover. She knew it was a gift of Lexa to her, as well. She was more sure that Lexa loved her than she was that the sun would rise.

They spent hours in quiet, Gustus occasionally playing the lyre-like instrument with slow, soothing melodies. Clarke watched ink bloom across her lover’s skin until her eyes were heavy. Indra asked Gustus to take her place, tired, and the man nodded acquiesce.

The darkest night stole over them, and Clarke lit every candle Lexa possessed. An hour later, and it was finished. With instructions to keep the markings clean, a final gush of thanks from Lexa, and Gustus and Indra departed.

A charged sort of air filled the cottage, and Clarke crossed to run her fingers over Lexa’s tattoo. It was elegant and wrapped around her bicep like a band, shapes twisting in, out, and over itself to form a ring of what mimicked well-knotted leather. A Cruzcovian wedding ring, Clarke mused.

Then, Lexa’s lips descended over hers, and Clarke let the woman guide her up and onto the table, her hardened length insisting at Clarke’s thigh, though Lexa was gentle as a lamb.

Combing through the brunette tresses, Clarke pulled the woman away from her mouth to breathe and smile. Lexa copied her.

“ _Ai houmon,”_

Clarke couldn’t help but like the sounds Lexa rasped around. And the sounds she made late into that night.

* * *

 

“Wake up, Clarke,”

Clarke murmured unhappily, rolling in the pile of furs away from Lexa’s stroking hand. The brunette smiled.

“Clarke, you’ll want to see this. Penelope is in labour,”

The blonde opened her eyes, and Lexa shielded the harsh glare of the lantern from blinding the freshly-woken woman. Quickly, her blue eyes cleared and took in Lexa’s excited smile. Almost instantly, the fog from her mind cleared and she laughed, moving to get up.

Her lover rose and handed a neatly folded dress out to her, and Clarke was pulling on boots before Lexa could laugh at her, running into the night. In the stable, Penelope lay on a heaving side, and Clarke instantly went to her, stroking her thick head and neck.

“ _Hei_ , _hei_ ,” Lexa gentled, kneeling at her hindquarters, “M’girl,” she soothed, eyes critically taking in the situation.

“Lexa,” Clarke breathed excitedly, “What do we do?”

“Heat some water, get a few towels, and wait,” she sighed, rising once more. She watched Clarke’s features stress slightly, and she crossed to squat closely next to the woman, pressing a gentle kiss to the round cheekbone, “Worry not,” she smiled, “She knows more than we do about what must be done. It is in her bones, Clarke, she will be alright,”

The blonde leaned into Lexa briefly before smiling back, pressing a hand to the bent knee.

They fetched the water and towels, and set up a silent vigil while Penelope breathed heavily and whinnied. Lexa had rolled her sleeves over her muscular forearms, and braided her hair out of her face.

“Alright,” she muttered, “There you are,” just as Penelope started up a cacophony of neighing that stole Clarke’s breathe temporarily.

The birth was over before Clarke was aware it had officially begun, and she watched as Lexa quickly soaked a towel in warm water and scrubbed the bony philly clean of blood and fluid.

Instantly, Penelope struggled to her feet and nudged the collapsed babe to their feet. Her large head caught her young several times, before finally finding purchase and standing on barely supportable structures of legs.

Clarke cheered, and Lexa came to wrap an arm around her, the two watching the newborn calf. She was beautiful, truly. Elizabeth’s Arkadian silk coat of tan had mixed with the sleek Trigedan white of Penelope, and made a spectacular, iridescent golden color on the young mare.

“She’s wonderful,” Clarke whispered amid the happy, high-pitched whinnies.

Lexa nodded, “I’ve never seen anything like her,” she agreed.

“What shall we call her?”

The brunette smiled, “Clara,”

Clarke scoffed, and Lexa turned a playful eye upon her lover.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Lexa dipped her head for a kiss Clarke eventually granted, and the brunette soothed the woman in her arms, “Forgive me for desiring a piece of you,”

“I cannot forgive you for Clara,” Clarke replied with an exasperated smile, “But fine. If only because a beautiful horse needs a beautiful namesake,” she touted, and Lexa laughed, not disagreeing.

* * *

 

“Where are you going?”

Clarke turned, surprised at the gravel in Lexa’s freshly woken voice. She finished tying the neckline of her dress and knelt to lay a kiss to Lexa’s confused lips. The woman kissed her back passively, groggy but curious.

“Into town,” Clarke whispered into the early morning stillness. Lexa snuffled in a way Clarke knew meant she was preparing herself to leave the comfort of their furs, and she placed a hand on Lexa’s shoulder to stop her.

“I’ll be back soon, dearest. I’m only going to see someone,”

Lexa frowned further.

“Who?” she asked petulantly, and Clarke smiled.

“Never you mind,”

Lexa huffed tiredly at the coy answer and collapsed back into the furs. It was autumn and the perfect weather for covering oneself in warmth before the winter’s plunge.

“Fine,” she gruffed, speaking into her arms, “I suppose I shall starve and let you have your affair,”

Clarke laughed, bending to cover Lexa’s smiling face in kisses.

“Don’t fret, darling. My lover in town isn’t nearly as skilled as you. I’ll be unsatisfied all day. There’s porridge in the fireplace,”

After Lexa had chuffed a laugh of her own, she gave Clarke another parting kiss and kept herself awake long enough to hear her _houmon_ leave to the stables, and then canter off. She rolled to her back, and breathed deeply, contently.

Similarly, Clarke held a smile on her face as she rode the way into town. She took her time, and made her way to the public stables as the sun was established in the sky. Half an aug later, and Elizabeth was happily munching oats and stabled.

Clarke drifted through her people, enjoying their mundane peace as usual. She bought herself a sweet roll and a thick cut of ham for breakfast and chatted with the milkman for a while.

“Mornin’ Clara. Fancy seein’ you ‘round!” greeted the blacksmith’s daughter at a wine stall.

Clarke smiled, “Emma, how are you? Brant propose yet?”

The girl laughed and engaged the blonde-turned-brunette in idle conversation.

Yes, Clarke loved her people. To them, she was Clara Woods, sister –in-law to Lexa Woods, wife of her late brother, God rest his soul. She was a member of the community, and a right Godsend when doing dealings with Lexa’s vineyard.

As afternoon stole over the town, Clarke took a deep breath and sent her resolve to her spine. Straightening, she walked to the seedier end of town, and spotted a local urchin selling buttons. She passed him a whole half aug, and his eyes grew wide.

“Best whorehouse in town,” she started, “Know where it’d be?”

The boy nodded, and turned to point down a way, “Down there, turn to a street with a black door at the end. Madame Nia,”

Clarke nodded and started off, her heart speeding with every step. She found the place just fine, and as soon as she knocked at a two-tiered house, the door opened to reveal a woman twice Clarke’s age, but dressed as well as she would at court, with the exception of half her blouse-front missing.

“Madame Nia?” the blonde tried, and the buxom woman gave a slow, painted-red smile.

“Let me guess,” the woman began, leaning against the frame, “Looking for your husband?”

Clarke didn’t know what she expected, but that wasn’t it. She couldn’t help but bite her lip to keep from laughing. She felt wildly underdressed, and something about the Madame made her want to start disrobing to prove something.

“No,” Clarke replied. Nia tilted her head, seemingly a little less bored.

“How about engaged, and nervous about the wedding night?”

Clarke’s eyes crinkled in laughter.

“No,”

The woman seemed to smirk, a small bit intrigued. She eyed Clarke up and down, and shrugged, pushing off from the door.

“Come on in, you seem interesting,”

Clarke followed the woman through the parlour, and was amazed by the amount of candles and overpowering scent of rose oil through the house. A few whores sat on couches, another two at a harp. None even looked up. Clarke stepped through a few doors and found herself in a sitting room with Madame Nia, being served a cup of overly strong wine.

The woman sat on a couch across from her and eyed her over her own cup.

“So tell me,” she started, “Who are you and what do you want? I’ve only got two girls who prefer women, but all of them are willing,”

Clarke let out a peal of laughter and sipped her wine. She considered Nia’s open stare, her somehow still-handsome aged features curious. Clarke sat forward in her cushions.

“My lover is Cruzcovian,” she started, a leading statement if there ever were one. Madame Nia’s eyebrow ticked, and she waited. Clarke simply tilted her head, “The rumors are true, in her case,”

The woman looked deeply amused, and she smiled fully, “I’ve only ever met one other Cruzcovian like that,” she replied, a fondness curling her lips, “She had a cock most men would give an arm for, and fucked like a stallion,” the woman sighed and returned to the present, leveling a look to Clarke, “You’re a lucky woman,”

Clarke nearly choked, but managed to simply cough and nod. Nia smirked.

“Ah, so I take it you haven’t broken your stallion in yet?”

Faintly, her mind conjured Lexa’s face, and how she might react to this conversation. Clarke wondered distantly if Lexa might faint, with so much blood to her cheeks.

“She is my lover – there’s no mistake there,” Clarke delivered carefully, “But I want more of her, more _for_ her. I didn’t know where else to go,”

Nia considered her, draining her cup of wine and refilling it.

“So you want to know something other than how to fuck like a teenage bride, right?”

“Yes,”

Nia smiled, “You’ve come to the right place,”

“You would show me?” Clarke asked easily.

The woman chuckled, “Call me a woman of charity. I do it in memory of my own Cruzcovian. A prick like hers was one in a thousand, and I should know,” she winked and raised her cup, “Here’s to charity and potential, my girl,”

Clarke tapped her cup and drained it.

For the next two hours, the blonde let her hands sweat and throat dry as Madame Nia showed her around her brothel, introducing her to the unwelcome sight of opened doors and interrupted sex. After diagrams and artistic depictions, Nia gave her a slow smile as she once more leaned against the entryway, seeing Clarke off.

“Once you train your stallion, girl, would you be willing to share her?”

Clarke felt herself give an answering, measured, smile. She turned back to the Madame and laughed.

“Would you?

The woman merely folded her arms and conceded. She lifted an eyebrow as she continued to smirk, “Not even for the sake of charity, your Grace?”

Clarke froze, and sent a glance to Nia’s cool, knowing smile. She smirked.

“Not even then,”

The ride back was filled with cool air, and Clarke thanked God for the breeze against her flushed skin. The rock of the saddle between her legs was torture enough. The sun was just setting as she trotted onto the vineyard, and she instinctively sought Lexa in the barn.

She posted Elizabeth and found her love double-counting casks. Lexa stiffened momentarily, and Clarke knew she had heard her approach. She wrapped her arms around the woman anyway, and breathed in the earthy, grounding scent of Lexa. Both a good and bad idea. Good, since it cleared her mind of the strange, fantasy-like place of her past hours. Bad, since feeling the hard-packed muscle and lean curves of Lexa sent her pulse between her legs.

“Clarke?”

“Hm?”

Lexa was quiet for a moment, and tentatively continued, “Please do not take this the wrong way, but you smell like a prostitute,”

Clarke smiled against her shoulder blades, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s because I spent all day with a prostitute,”

Lexa turned sharply, breaking Clarke’s hold slightly to settle back on the shocked woman’s hips.

“Clarke?” she hoarsed out, her green eyes wide and alarmed.

The blonde chuckled and soothed her with a charmed pet of the woman’s back, “I went to town today, and I asked for some advice,”

Lexa seemed to freeze completely as she looked into the overwhelming flatness of her _houmon_ ’s eyes, and the burning that had overtaken them. She swallowed and felt her cheeks heat.

“O-Oh?”

Clarke hummed, her hands stroking and wandering up and down Lexa’s back, buttocks, upper thighs. She glanced down, hopeful for a tell tale shifting of fabric. Lexa burned and burned as Clarke met her eyes once more.

“Mhm,” she practically purred, stepping toward Lexa, “It was… inspiring,”

Lexa’s breath caught as she couldn’t stop her own gaze from sweeping down to Clarke’s lips, her jaw, her lovely neck, Lexa’s marks just barely visible as Clarke kept approaching.

She had no idea she had been backing up until Lexa’s arse hit the top of a sturdy cask of fermenting wine.

“Clarke?” she groaned, knowing her _houmon_ had an idea, and she was powerless but to indulge her. Blood had rushed to her cock, and she knew without looking that it would be fully erect and impatient.

Clarke drew a hand painfully slowly over the front of Lexa’s trousers, stroking the underside of Lexa’s dick. The woman’s eyes never left Clarke’s, and the blonde felt herself suddenly second guess herself.

“Lex,” she said hoarsely, her hand never ceasing its attentions to Lexa’s length, “I want to do this. A lot. But if you don’t,” she bit her lip, “Only tell me,”

Lexa’s head spun, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t know how Clarke figured they were going to have sex here, in the barn, but she trusted her _houmon_. Soon, she glanced down when Clarke did to see the blonde untie her trousers, and her dick pulsed with need.

Then, without preamble, her pants slid down her legs at the same time as Clarke. Lexa gasped at the sight. Immediately, she felt her heart double time.

“Clarke-“ she protested, only to have Clarke steal the air from her lungs as she put her tongue to the head of her prick. Blue eyes looked up at her, and Clarke’s clever fingers stroked her patiently.

“Lexa?” Clarke tried, and the hopeful worry in the crystal sky of Clarke’s eyes made Lexa breathe deeply. She reached to grip around the wooden cask’s lip and nodded shallowly.

Clarke recalled everything Madame Nia had told her about the act, and she breathed deeply through her nose. She wet her lips and opened her mouth to take Lexa’s hot prick.

Above her, Lexa let out a strangled sort of gasp and then shivered with a deep moan. Clarke nearly pulled her mouth away to smile in satisfaction. But she persisted. The clear fluid Lexa’s dick leaked tasted spectacularly unique, and she found she quite liked it.

She ran her tongue over the slit, and her lover whimpered. She repeated the motion several times, to Lexa’s amazed delight. Clarke intuitively recalled that friction was Lexa’s favorite sensation and flattened her tongue to take as much of Lexa’s cock into her mouth.

Lexa was hot in a way she only vaguely felt when Lexa was inside of her, and having her in her mouth was strangely intimate. She felt that she was both giving Lexa pleasure, and somehow secretly taking her own. Madame Nia warned her that it would be uncomfortable the first few times, but Clarke was having a difficult time understanding. If she simply relaxed into the trust Lexa was putting into the moment, Clarke felt a thrill go through her as Lexa’s cock pushed through the deep of her throat.

She was salivating like crazy, and she would have been embarrassed but for the groaning of her love. Clarke pulled away to breathe properly, and Lexa’s forest green eyes were wide. Not in shock, this time, but in pure, primal hunger. Lexa watched her like an animal waiting for the kill, and Clarke felt her cunt clench around nothing.

She took Lexa back into her mouth and watched the conflict in Lexa’s eyes as the woman resisted the minute shivering of her own hips, wanting to thrust forward. Clarke picked up the rhythm of her movements, watching Lexa’s face with hunger. Those green eyes couldn’t settle; Clarke’s eyes, or Clarke’s mouth.

Lexa felt like she was going to combust. Clarke’s mouth felt entirely different from her cunt, but almost as wonderful. The knowledge, though, that Clarke wanted to give this to her, even take this from her, drove her wild. And the sounds! The shameless, wet, slurping sounds! They echoed in her ears as she watched Clarke, on her knees, nearly swallow her cock, over and over again.

She felt her bollocks be caressed from where they had already been building pressure.

“Clarke-“ she gasped, her fingernails cutting into 50-year old wood. She was going to orgasm, “Clarke I am going to-,”

Her warning seemed to have the opposite effect, and the idea of Clarke _wanting_ to taste her release was a filthy, erotic and _wanted_ thought. So wanted, that merely the idea made her come.

Clarke moaned as Lexa’s seed filled her mouth, washing over her tongue. She was shocked by how hot it was, and the nearly liquid viscosity. Still, she was shocked further by the suddenness of its appearance, the duration of its continued streams, and how much she mourned when it was eventually over too quickly.

Clarke worked her tongue in her own mouth to absorb every taste, and slowly rose to her feet, Lexa’s beautiful face shocked once more. Tense moments of disbelief and awe filled the space.

Then, the brunette was embracing her tightly. Clarke felt herself go boneless as Lexa’s strength and love surrounded her, and she felt fulfillment. Lexa brushed kisses and nuzzles of her nose into Clarke’s hair and temple, her eyes alight with deep love and appreciation.

“Clarke,” Lexa murmured, over and over, “Clarke,”

Clarke happily set about returning Lexa’s trousers to their proper state, and Lexa barely left her alone to do so. When she finished, Lexa bent to sweep the blonde into her arms. Clarke nearly screamed in joy, and kissed the brunette as she was held.

“Good?” she breathed, and Lexa was grinning broadly.

“Good,”

Lexa carried her to the cottage, not caring that she didn’t finish her day’s tasks. For the rest of the evening, Clarke laughed in exasperation at Lexa’s overbearing affection. She followed Clarke by nearly every step, getting in the way of each stage of fixing supper, hands and lips needing purchase on some part of her _houmon_ at all times. Clarke merely huffed, giggled, and swatted her way through the evening, liking immensely Lexa’s reaction to the whole affair.

That night, Lexa stripped her of her clothing gently and nipped her ear.

“Clarke,” the woman started quietly, leaning on an elbow over her _houmon_. Clarke hummed, feeling Lexa’s hardened cock against her thigh. She resisted the urge to roll on top of Lexa and not care what the woman had to say. She had been waiting since this afternoon for her own release, and she was going to get one. Still…

“Lexa?” she mimicked, and the brunette nips her ear once more.

“Clarke, may I,” Clarke listened as Lexa swallowed in the dark, amused. Lexa continued, “Clarke, may I ask you to try something new for me, too?”

The blonde felt surprise color her immediate answer, and she felt slightly ashamed that she hadn’t considered that Lexa might be sexually creative in her own right.

“Of course, darling,” she crooned. Lexa made a deep sort of sound of satisfaction, and Clarke didn’t prepare herself for the shift in Lexa’s mood. Her lover was always gentle. Passionate, strong, and with strength enough to make her see stars, but always gentle.

So when Lexa strongly, forcefully, shifted and took ahold of Clarke’s legs, Clarke squealed in delight. Lexa simply hummed deeply, and Clarke’s eye adjusted enough to see her wicked smile.

Running her hands up the smooth legs, Lexa gripped under Clarke’s knees, placing herself in a normal position to enter her. But Lexa tightened her hold on Clarke’s legs, and the blonde gasped as she was rolled onto her upper back, her reflexes throwing her hands to the furs to support herself. Needlessly, as Lexa placed Clarke’s legs over her own shoulders and leaned down to press her hands to the bedding, locking Clarke in place.

Clarke shivered as Lexa’s cock slipped perfectly through her wetness, and found no hint of pain as Lexa leaned further to place a kiss to her lips. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, hoping to balance out the strange feeling of being half-lifted from the bed.

“ _Ai hodnes_?” Lexa ground out, her dick jumping and unintentionally thrusting shallowly. Clarke forgot how to form words. She simply gripped Lexa tighter, whining, as she tried to shift so Lexa would enter her.

Lexa chuckled and moved, finding the softest spot on Clarke’s wetness with relief and pushing insistently. They moaned simultaneously as Lexa entered her. Clarke’s moan hitched and hit a higher pitch. Did Lexa get bigger?

“ _Klarke_ ,” her lover grunted, wanting a response this time. Clarke moaned, her pussy contracting and clenching irregularly.

“Lex,” she breathes, “This- You’re- oh, so amazing,”

“ _Os_?”

Clarke struggled, before her brain translated and replied, “Good,” she answered with a rasp. Her last breath, really, as Lexa pulled back and entered her with such smooth force, she gave a short, lovely scream. Lexa growled in approval.

The brunette started up a steady fucking, her already incredibly able length catching deep inside Clarke. The blonde felt Lexa’s dick slide with welcome vigor into wonderful new places. The positioning of her legs sucked her cock inside at the same time as restricting access, and Lexa’s powerful thrusts increased in intensity between each interval to compensate.

Sooner than intended, Clarke felt the deep, curling pressure explode out of her as she reached climax all at once. She shivered and rocked, crying out as Lexa ground into her.

As soon as she caught her breath, though, she knew Lexa wasn’t through. The woman was continuously grunting in Trigedasleng, and Clarke felt her cunt give another greedy pulse and she moaned. She brought Lexa down to her lips, and the woman stilled her grind. Praying Clarke remembered the word correctly, she pushed Lexa’s head back, and Clarke all but growled.

“Again, _ai Steltrona_ ,”

At this, Clarke felt Lexa release some kind of animal within herself, and the woman pulled out of Clarke’s wonderful insides to manipulate her body where she wanted it. Clarke whined as she found herself facing away from Lexa, her forearms reflexively bracing her on the furs. Lexa had her hips in her hands, drawing Clarke to her knees.

Clarke nearly stopped her.

Nearly.

All until Lexa spread her legs and entered her cunt again at full force, leaning over to plant her hands by Clarke’s sides. Clarke’s arms collapsed to gather the furs around her as she whimpered and moaned her absolute pleasure. Lexa was stirring the deepest places inside of her, and she could do nothing but enjoy every moment.

Lexa was sweating and straining, swearing in at least three languages, and Clarke couldn’t say anything except, “Yes, _Steltrona_ ,”

It wasn’t long before Clarke felt herself tense every muscle, hands clawing at the furs, as she went completely rigid, not even loose enough to scream. Clarke couldn’t tell if she had lost consciousness, but at the end of her orgasm, she felt Lexa locked in debate with herself as she ground against Clarke’s arse.

“ _Jok! Pul we, Leksa,_ ” the brunette grunted to herself, her _houmon_ ’s cunt finally ceasing its spasming to allow her to pull out and release across Clarke’s back and thighs. The blonde heaved a sigh of immense relief, and Lexa caught her breath only as she slumped, exhausted, off of Clarke and onto the furs.

In the stillness, Clarke almost couldn’t believe what they had just done. Not even after their bonding had they both been that intense. Lexa had almost scared her. Almost.

It was only a moment before fatigue entered every muscle of her body, and Clarke fell into slumber, knowing Lexa did the same.

When she woke, it was to a warm wetness sliding against her bare back, and Clarke hummed at Lexa’s careful touch, the wetted cloth cleaning her from their suddenly remembered romp. She cracked an eye open to find the cottage abnormally filled with light, and Lexa dressed only in trousers and her breast binding.

Her lover smiled in satisfaction and stretched lazily. Lexa laughed, and slid down to join Clarke on the bedding. The blonde immediately curled into Lexa’s embrace and ran her nose over Lexa’s own.

“Have a pleasant night, _ai hodnes_?” Lexa teased gently.

Clarke merely hummed happily, then smiled. She watched Lexa’s keen green eyes.

“That was amazing, _ai Steltrona_ ,”

Lexa colored even as she smiled. She cleared her throat guiltily.

“So, what else did the prostitutes tell you?”

* * *

 

“I am continuously impressed by your household,” Lexa said one day in winter. She was currently standing in the warm bath at the castle, her hips bracketed by Clarke’s legs as the Duchess sat on the built-in ledge.

Clarke ran her hands over the sides of Lexa’s breasts, tilting her head as she watched her lover.

“Oh?” she smiled, “What makes you say such a thing?”

Lexa hummed as Clarke traced her ribs, her eyes going momentarily flat in distraction as she gazed at the lightly interested blue eyes, her cock stirring faintly. The fair-haired woman smiled innocently and slid her hands to rest safely on the woman’s strong shoulders.

“Mm. I find them to be so very understanding. And most obviously in love with their sovereign,” Lexa teased.

Clarke laughed, “Oh I see. You mean the way they seem perfectly content ignoring the papacy’s rule, which extends all the way to my bedchambers?”

The brunette smiled gently, drawing Clarke into her chest weightlessly. The blonde glided until she was cradled in warmth.

“To begin with, yes,” Lexa dipped to lay a kiss to Clarke’s lips, “Not to forget their single-handed construction of Alexander, and carrying on as if it were completely acceptable for their Lady to keep such a versatile lover in her own household,”

“A versatile lover, you say?” Clarke teased.

“In skill and in appearance,” the brunette countered.

The blonde laughed and twisted to wrap her legs around the smirking woman, circling her arms around her neck. Lexa caught her easily, massaging the blonde’s smooth thighs and buttocks, careful to keep the woman floated above her increasingly interested dick.

“I suppose you are malleable enough,” Clarke faux-pondered, “Given proper instruction, I mean,” Lexa scoffed, but she carried on, “But I grant your observation. It’s because they see you, and the happiness you bring me, I think. A blind eye is their gift to us,” she brushed her nose to the taller woman’s.

“The Pope would reason to label it aiding and abetting,”

“So they lend a hand every once in a while,”

“Raven lays out two sets of clothes for me while I stay here. Two. Every morning,”

Clarke hummed, “I realize. The money for your clothes comes from my treasury, darling”

Lexa laughed, “Who knew the Count of Trigeda was so fabulously wealthy?”

The blonde kissed the laughing woman, gently biting her lip in reprimand.

“Besides,” she caressed the wet-darkened locks, “None of my household has any love for Holy Rome or her subjects. To abide by its rule would be the highest of hypocrisies. Especially considering I suspect my handmaiden to badly want to bed my chambermaid,”

Lexa almost choked on her laughter, tightening her hold on Clarke.

“So it was not just you that Lords Monty and Jasper corrupted?”

“It would seem,” Clarke responded, entirely unbothered. She separated from the brunette with a parting kiss, and reached for her soaps, “On the subject, do you recall their gifts from their most recent visit?”

Lexa nodded, moving to intercept the soap and wash her beloved’s golden locks herself, “I recall their existence, not their contents,”

Clarke hummed and relaxed into Lexa’s gentle hands, “I never intended to ignore them, but I feared the Lords’ return this spring would risk some awkward topics if unattended,” she let Lexa hum her interest and shut her eyes, completely at ease, “They were beautiful presents. Teas, spices, tunics, gowns, as well as something I assume is from Lord Monty. A treated sheep’s intestine that will allow you to ejaculate inside of me. During intercourse,”

She felt Lexa’s hands in her hair still, and she smiled before jumping to what Lexa needed, “I admit, I am intensely curious about the device, and this one is apparently beautifully expensive. It’s foul looking, but in a box made of pure gold and soft leather. Would you consent to wear it?”

Clarke, ever so relaxed, smiled and gently moved way. Giving her lover a moment, she leaned to rinse her hair in the still water and rid it of soap. She turned, and watched as Lexa seemed deep in thought. Clarke sighed, wetting a cloth with soap to run over her bare chest and arms.

Finally, Lexa reacted.

“Clarke,” she started, her vine green eyes hesitant, and Clarke paused, “You are not… satisfied?”

Immediately, Clarke became very alarmed and went to hold the somehow insecure woman, “Lexa, no,” she said sternly, her blue eyes serious and searching, “That was never my intention to say. You know exactly how much you satisfy me. And if history serves, you are annoyingly smug about my level of satisfaction. Both in wit and abed,” she relaxed when Lexa’s eyes cleared.

“Then I am confused,” the taller woman said carefully, now only deeply curious, “I know it is not because you are… unhappy. And I know it is not because you desire a man,” she flashed a smirk, “You have Alexander,” Clarke rolled her eyes, “So I am confused, my love. There is not a problem with... us. And you have much to risk if this does not work. Please, explain your desire to me,”

The blonde nodded fairly, “You’re right on all accounts, Lex. To me, this is no more exploratory than any other varying position we might find when we have sex. I’ve just always want to feel you inside me as we climax together,” she glanced a kiss to the woman’s jaw, “Besides, surely you’ve heard of them?”

Lexa hummed, “Yes, they’re quite common in the whorehouses,”

Clarke rocked backwards slightly in amusement, once again finding her washing cloth, “Lexa Woods,” she gasped in outrage, “You’re telling your Duchess you frequent the brothels?”

The brunette gave a monumental scoff at the hypocrisy and Clarke smiled as Lexa took over her washing. The woman tsked.

“Of course,” she panned flatly “I simply couldn’t afford to intercourse with my Lady every night. My treasury is not so grand,”

Clarke laughed and took the cloth, reaching to scrub her lover.

“So? What do you think, Lexa?”

The woman bit her lip, looking at the open expression on her sovereign’s beautiful face, “May I think on it?”

Clarke felt relief lift through her chest, “That’s all I ask,” she smiled, “Now, turn, so I may wash your hair,”

* * *

 

Lexa traditionally never thought it was a good idea to be intimate anywhere but their bedchambers while in the castle. Incidentally, Clarke was only neutral to this stance. Especially when she was trying to subdue a fit of jealousy.

“Clarke, we cannot do this,”

The blonde huffed angrily, frustration coloring her features and her tone.

“You seemed just fine doing it with Daphne!”

Lexa paused, almost shocked. Clarke took that as she cue to press.

“And you don’t refute it!”

“Of course, I refuse it, Clarke,” Lexa began in her irritating, level tone. Clarke grit her teeth.

“You cannot expect me to be calm while I watch her paw at you like a cat in heat, Lexa!”

If Clarke had more time, she would have paused to wonder if Lexa was blushing beneath her war paint. Paint, which was tattooed into her own skin.

“She is not doing that, Clarke,” Lexa attempted.

“Close enough,” the woman fumed, turning away from the sight of the gorgeous creature in front of her.

Lexa didn’t know what to do. They had quarreled before, most obviously. But it had always been about sensible, easy to resolve issues. This was something she could not give to Clarke. She tightened her jaw.

“I- I love you,” she tried helplessly. It was all she could offer.

Clarke paused, her eyes focusing on the windowpane she looked out on. Lexa’s tone cleaved through the cloud of jealous fury in her mind’s eye. She turned back to the brunette, her lover, her life.

Lexa stood taller than usual, Alexander a little bit broader, a little bit frightening. But the eyes were always Lexa. And now, those clear-cut emeralds held nothing but distressed love.

Clarke breathed. She nodded, looking away.

“I know,” she whispered. She brought her lip into her mouth and tried to calm herself, washing out Daphne’s handsy attention on Lexa. She fixed Lexa with a hard sort of apologetic look,

“I trust you, darling,”

Lexa breathed and stepped toward the Duchess, resting her forehead on Clarke’s. She shut her eyes and hummed.

“ _Ai houmon_ ,” she crooned gently.

“I love you too,” Clarke murmured.

* * *

 

Clarke waited on the bed, sheets and furs surrounding her as she watched Lexa with impatient boredom. She was completely naked, and she sighed as she admired the equal state of undress her lover was in.

The lover who was currently prodding the inside of a dish of warm water. The lover who was fully erect. Clarke sighed wistfully.

“Clarke,” Lexa huffed, and she reached to pick up the wetted sheep intestine. Full of water, it stretched, slightly bloated at the bottom, but was otherwise perfectly sealed, “And it will not leak with,” she bit her lip, “movement?”

Clarke raised an eyebrow.

“Lexa, you should know that by asking me, means you don’t recognize that I’m firmly camped in the area of hoping it does leak,”

The well-muscled brunette rolled her eyes, taking the sheath and ridding it of water. She breathed deeply before lowering it to her cock and set about putting it over her dick.

Clarke watched with interest, as the delicate material was so thin, one could still see the vivid colors on Lexa’s prick. The brunette finished and waited. The Duchess nearly laughed, wondering what Lexa was afraid would happen.

“ _Os_ ,” Lexa murmured, then walked to the bed. Clarke brightened and shuffled, patting the bed for Lexa to lie down on. The woman watched her move about with wary green eyes.

Clarke placed a leg over Lexa’s own, and happily ground her center over Lexa’s covered dick. She raised an eyebrow as Lexa’s face twisted.

“Can you still feel me, darling?”

Lexa, seemingly amazed, nodded. She placed her hands on Clarke’s hips, caressing at various spots when it took her. The mounted woman sighed and lowered herself to slowly impale herself on her lover’s cock.

“Good?” Clarke sighed, and tilted her head at the flutter of Lexa’s eyes. She smirked.

Good.

* * *

 

“I have never wanted a child with you more than I do right now,”

Lexa chuckled deep in her throat over the crackling of the fire in the cottage.

“Clarke,” she chided, “Do not tease me so. I might grant your request,”

Clarke lifted herself from where she had been resting against Lexa’s front to rest on her elbows and look into the woman’s amused green eyes.

“I’m perfectly serious,”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, “I can see that,”

“I want everything with you,” Clarke smiled, dusting kisses to the hand that came up to cradle her cheek, “And I want to make a life with you. I want to feel your child grow inside me, and then I want to watch them get older. A piece of you,” another kiss, “And a piece of me,”

Lexa watched her carefully, breathing evenly in the quiet.

“I want that too, Clarke,” she admitted, to Clarke’s delight, “I want to raise them here, on the vineyard. Or in the castle. It does not matter, only so long as you are with me,”

Clarke glowed.

“But Clarke,” Lexa began, and Clarke instantly pouted, making the brunette laugh, “It is not so simple,”

“Why not?” the blonde badgered.

Lexa glared halfheartedly, placing a strand of hair behind her _houmon’s_ ear.

“For one, you are not married by Arkadian custom. If you were to become with child, it would raise questions from the King that even his affection for you could not quiet,” she twitched her nose teasingly, “Secondly, I do not think Indra would let you out of her sight for the duration, and returning to the castle would be rather difficult,”

Clarke laughed, settling back down with a huff. Lexa smoothed kisses over her hair, rewrapping her arms around the woman tucked into her side.

“Someday soon, _ai niron_ ,” she eased, “We will have everything you dream of,”

Clarke simply hummed, “Swear it,”

Lexa laughed as Clarke looked up at her. They kissed easily.

“I swear it,” Lexa vowed solemnly, her free hand casting down Clarke’s smooth body to graze against her stomach. The blonde caught her wrist, her stomach clenching at the insinuation. Lexa’s heart fluttered, laying her hand flat, “We will have a child,”

Clarke’s chest tightened and soothed as she stared into Lexa’s adoring green eyes, “Someday soon,” she threatened lovingly. Lexa’s smile pressed deeper, fingers caressing Clarke’s womb.

“Only if you promise me that our child will look like you,”

Clarke laughed.

“No deal, darling. I want another you, and I traditionally get what I want,”

Lexa’s crooning amusement was the last they spoke that night, though they both were awake until nearly dawn.

* * *

 

“Just tell me what’s bothering you, darling,”

“Clarke, please,” Lexa grit, her eyes trained on the stitching in her hands, “Stop,”

The blonde pursed her lips, “Lexa, I just want to help,”

The brunette remained silent.

“Lexa,”

Clarke breathed harshly, her blue eyes narrowing as she was pointedly ignored. If she flared up, she knew it would fix nothing. Still, she was worried. Lexa could be quiet, yes. Sometimes even silent bordering solitary. It was her nature. But this, this was not normal. Something was very, very wrong. The sun shone on them lazily, and they had already tended to the wine for today.

“Lexa,” she said, firmer than before, “I’m worried about you. Share this with me,”

As soon as she said it, Clarke knew she had pushed once too far. Because Lexa, her sweet Lexa, apparently had had enough. The fabric in her hands crumpled as she took to her feet in an aggressively quick manner. Clarke flinched.

Staring at the ground, Lexa unclenched her teeth enough to bite out, “I am going to town,”

Clarke merely watched her lover, guilt blanketing her heart. The brunette threw the clothing to the grass and left to the stable, Duncan blazing out unsaddled a moment later.

The blonde woman sighed, her head in her hands.

When Lexa returned, she was three sheets to the wind and weeping.

Clarke roused herself enough to fold the woman into her arms, cooing soft, soothing sounds. Lexa rubbed her face into Clarke’s thin shift, smelling of ale and willing herself happier.

Through hiccups and half-sobs, Lexa told her Justin was dead. Tried for some mischief on a stranger’s horse and got kicked in the head. He was gone before he hit the ground.

Clarke closed her eyes in devastation.

She didn’t say anything. How could she? All she could do was hold her _houmon_ together at the seams and hum Arkadian lullabies through her own slow tears.

Then, a week of letting Lexa have her space. A week where Clarke fed the sad children fresh tea cakes and shooed them to some chore or another. A week of allowing little Sampson or Teresa to tug on her skirts as she walked, Elle a silent shadow. A week of mournful nights filled with quiet chatter about nothing.

A week, and then Clarke felt hands slide around her waist as she brushed Clara, and she leaned backwards into Lexa’s sturdy love. She breathed out in bone-deep relief as Lexa finally spoke.

“Our children will not play with horses until 10 summers,”

Clarke moved to nuzzle the soft skin under Lexa’s jaw.

“7,” she softened.

“8,”

“Okay,”

* * *

 

 

Lexa rose from her perch in the library to intercept her arriving lover, a quick kiss on her lips. She smiled at the beautifully dressed blonde in sympathy.

“No good?”

Clarke groaned, ducking her head into Lexa’s shoulder.

“Not at all, I’m afraid,” she extricated herself to ask a nearby servant for wine and olives, and folded herself onto the couch, Lexa joining her, “Negotiations with Prussia aren’t going well at all, Spain is already preparing to defending their own lands, and it’s only a matter of time before King Louis moves for either Portugal or Sicily,”

She heaved a worried sigh, and Lexa took her hand solidly, trying to offer her support. Clarke shot her a grateful smile, her brow still heavy, “I don’t know what I’ll do if he moves for Sicily. Because then Polisia will be next, Arkadia being the target,”

“What do your advisors say?” Lexa asked quietly, tracing the fine bones in Clarke’s hands. Already, her callouses are softening away, and Lexa remembers that it’s been almost six months since Clarke set foot on the vineyard.

“Nothing of importance,” Clarke snaps out, frowning at the shelves in front of her, “They speak, but say nothing of value,”

Lexa frowns, “How is that possible? They are-“

“They are imbecilic,” Clarke cuts shortly, “I’ve told them what I am and am not willing to do, and they seem to think it funny to ignore those statements,”

The brunette hair slides onto one side of her neck, thinking.

“But, Clarke, what are they asking of-“

“Lex, please, I really don’t want to discuss this right now,” she finally sighed, and the brunette bit her tongue, looking apologetic.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to pry,” Clarke’s heart twisted.

“You’re not,” she instantly soothed, grasping her agitated hands, “Of course you’re not. I’m just tired,” she tried a smile, “Good?”

Lexa nodded, “Good,”

Clarke sighed, and the brunette watched as she practically shed her coronet, “So,” the woman started, “What are you reading?”

Lexa offered her the forgotten book, a small blush heating her ears. Clarke looked over the bound pages, her mouth stretching in a smile. It was in Trigedasleng, but seemed to be some kind of instructional guide to writing in Arkadian.

“Oh, Lex. But, why?”

The woman shrugged, “I love you,”

* * *

 

Lexa bit her lip. Apprehension coursed through her body with every beat of her heart, and she sighed at herself. The sun had long set, and she had yet to hear anything related to movement out in the darkness. A final huff, and she stood. A cold mug of tea, and an unread play, she stacked the belongings onto the chair and placed them all back inside.

Her thoughts turned over and over in her mind as she situated herself in the furs. It wasn’t the first time Clarke had not returned to her when she had said she would. It was something Lexa inherently understood and forgave. Further, she loved Clarke’s sense of duty, her responsible nature to put her people over herself.

Still, it was the first time Clarke had miscalculated her arrival time by an entire two weeks. Lexa closed her eyes, forcing relaxation into her bones. Her _houmon_ worried her. Usually, Clarke would send word to her if she were going to go out of the country.

Lexa rolled over, her hands reaching to pet down the furs where Clarke would lie. Just the memory of her warmth made the soft pelt feel colder, more distant.

And still, Lexa worried.

It was another week before Clarke returned.

“Lexa! Lexa!” Elle ran up to her in the far garden, her dirty face shining in joy, “Clarke’s back! She’s riding to the cottage now!” the girl was almost vibrating with excitement, and Lexa’s heart strangely twisted in the opposite direction.

“Is that so?” she murmured, looking back down to where she was tending the ground. Elle almost pounced on her.

“Come on, Lexa! Come welcome her with us!”

Lexa attempted a placating smile, “I will, Elle. Calm down,” she nodded her head, “Go and welcome her. I will be along when I have finished here,”

Elle merely shot her a strange look and a shrug before turning and tearing back down through the field. Lexa watched her go, an odd heaviness in her chest. She had missed Clarke more than she knew how to say. But now that she was here… Lexa swallowed at her selfishness. She didn’t want to hurt Clarke. But she did want her _houmon_ to understand her emptiness.

Staying away for more hours than strictly necessary, she finally gave in and started guiding Samuel back to the stables. As she arrived, she noticed the house lit and smoke pluming from the stack. Lexa sighed heavily.

Why wasn’t she excited?

Slowly, she unhitched the cart from Samuel and spent a good while cleaning and settling him into his stable stall. Absently, she stroked his nose.

“Are you mad at me?”

Lexa didn’t turn. If she looked at her, Lexa knew it would be over. Clarke would be leaned against a post, hair bound in a ribbon, her blue dress playing with the darling worried twilight in her eyes. Turning meant forgiving Clarke.

“No,” Lexa answered, still petting the horse.

“It’s all right if you are, Lexa,” Clarke rasped, and Lexa knew she’d be biting a lip, hesitation playing with the beautiful contours of her face.

“I am not mad,” she said calmly.

“But you’re upset?”

Lexa considered this.

“It has been three months, Clarke. You promised me only two this time,”

Behind her, the blonde flinched.

“I know,” she said quietly, “I had to leave and smooth some things over,”

“Oh?”

Truthfully, Lexa didn’t care. She didn’t particularly want to know whatever it was that took precedent over her. Still, she knew Clarke wanted to talk things out between them. She had always insisted on clarity and equality. Lexa had almost scoffed at the idea, before realizing that Clarke meant in their relationship.

“Yes,” Clarke said, and Lexa heard her scuff a boot against the ground, “I was uhm, propositioned,”

Lexa’s hand stilled.

“Who?”

“Lord Finn of England, and Lord Rudolfo of Spain,”

“Ah,”

“I had to leave and reject them in person,” Clarke said in an offering tone. Lexa stared at Samuel’s large, liquid eye. He blinked at her in pity. The woman carried on, “Lexa, I did. I fought with my advisors on it, but I turned them down. King Marcus will hear of it in the next month or so, and I know he’ll support my decision,”

Lexa didn’t say anything, strangely apathetic on the entire situation. She heard Clarke move closer to her slowly, but didn’t respond. When the woman’s warm frame draped herself under Lexa’s back and around her waist, the brunette couldn’t put a stopper on the tears that erupted from her.

Clarke’s heart broke at the sobs her love racked out.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered after Lexa’s weight had lowered them to the stable floor. Clarke held fast to the woman now clutching at her arms around her, “I’m so sorry, darling,”

Her face buried into the locks she had missed so much.

“I’m yours,” she swore, her voice thick with apology, “Only yours, Lexa Woods. I belong to you,”

It was another week before Lexa felt calm and secure enough to touch her intimately, and Clarke nearly cried in relief as their relationship returned to the blissful pace of before.

Lexa made love to her like it had been years apart that night, and the brunette had kissed away her tears.

* * *

 

“It is a wonder we have not been found out,”

Clarke raised an eyebrow from where she was lifting a warmed pot of water from the fire, “What makes you say that?”

Lexa shrugged, hands coated in soap going to her hair, “You just… stare at me so,”

Clarke smiled in amusement as she poured the water into Lexa’s bath.

“You are naked, my love. It’s a downright hobby to stare,”

Lexa scoffed, scrubbing her water-darkened locks.

“Even at the castle, I mean. You look at me, and it is like you want nothing more than to take me to bed,”

“Depending on what you’re doing, that’s probably not far from the truth,”

“Clarke,”

“What?” the blonde laughed, and Lexa smiled despite herself, “I love you, Lexa. I won’t apologize for it. Not now, and not ever,”

Lexa’s movements slowed, and she felt her body warm.

“Besides, half of the ladies at court do the same, so no one truly takes remarkable note,”

Lexa laughed.

“As if I would marry any of them,” she scoffed.

Clarke hummed, taking a stool to side astride the bath and pour water over Lexa’s hair.

“Is that so?” she teased, “But say you had to?”

Lexa stilled, “Clarke?”

“I’m only curious,”

Lexa hesitated, Clarke’s proposals not two months passed, ringing in her mind.

“I would not,” she said firmly.

Clarke smirked.

“Come on, Lexa. Even you can admit that the Princess Daphne is quite a beautiful woman,”

Lexa frowned, her attention going to scrub her bonding tattoo stubbornly.

“I would not,” she repeated deftly, glaring at the water.

Clarke only bit her lip and crouched to steal a kiss from slightly soapy lips.

* * *

 

At the turn of the summer, Clarke asked Lexa if Lord Alexander would accompany her to a summer ball of Lord Gabriel’s. The brunette had accepted with a silly sort of bow to her Duchess.

Their arrival, Clarke arranged, was separate, but only just barely. From the time their carriage wheels stopped in the courtyard, the two were loath to separate again. A display of attachment Lexa usually found unwise.

Secretly, Clarke saw her lover’s movements for what they were – a claim. Lord Finn was in attendance tonight, and the tall woman was in good form to prove her superiority. Clarke was too happy to play her part to assure her life’s love felt no competition.

During a dance, Lexa was speaking quietly to her, and Clarke’s heart sparkled. Trying not to be heard, she giggled back about the guests around her.

“Lord Jasper looks as if he’ll pass out at any moment if Lord Orin continues to speak to him,”

Clarke felt Lexa’s rigidly graceful form spasm in a suppressed laugh and watched as her lover tried and failed to hide a rather wide smile. The blonde couldn’t help but match the expression, knowing it was going to be at the Frenchman’s pretentious expense.

“What?” she drawled to the taller woman.

Lexa’s mouth twisted, before chuckling softly, “It would be a reasonable assumption. After all, Lord Jasper is a _bautomtak_ ,“ rasping her way around a word in Trigedasleng Clarke didn’t recognize. At her confused expression, Lexa smirked attractively. Her mouth descended to Clarke’s ear and the woman practically purred.

“It means to be one who is pleasured by receiving penetration,”

Clarke immediately rocked backwards in her laughter, Lexa’s divine grace the only thing leading her to continue dancing properly. She glanced around, and whispered back conspiratorially.

“Does this make me a _bautomtak_?”

To her immense hilarity, Lexa’s cocky smile seemed to slide off her attractive lips, her eyes blowing wide under her war paint.

“No,” she whispered in distress, “Clarke. No,” she emphasized in a near panic. The Duchess seemed to hum in amusement as her lover collected herself.

Lexa drew a little closer to the blonde, a hair’s breadth away from a scandal, and swallowed shallowly, “We do not- I mean to say, you do not-,” she flexed her jaw, and Clarke knew she was blushing furiously under her paint, “Not _there_ , Clarke” she insisted.

Clarke’s knees nearly buckled in her effort to keep from going to the floor in laughter. Thankfully, the minstrels struck their last chord and Lexa merely growled, stepping away and bowing to the Lady. Clarke curtsied back, and tilted her head in a hopeful question. Lexa didn’t respond, her face impassive.

Instead, a new song struck, and Lexa bowed her acquiescence for another dance. Clarke smiled. Lexa really did spoil her.  

Later, the two bowed and curtsied respectively to their conversation partners, meeting to select various fruits and cheeses to eat slowly as they spoke.

“When can we retire to our rooms?”

Clarke shot her a hunger-tinged look, “That depends, my darling, why do you ask?”

Lexa merely suppressed a smile, her paint-darkened eyes flickering around the grand hall.

“I have half a mind not to even answer you,” she threatened.

“And the other half?”

Lexa arched an eyebrow subtly, “The other half tells me not to care about rooms and have you right here,”

Clarke pealed out a laugh, covering her mouth as an after though. She sent Lexa a sly look, “Lex, you forget. We are not at my castle. To be found in my rooms would simply ruin you,”

Lexa hummed as she picked her way through a plate of roasted yams, “As would the sounds your neighbors are sure to hear,”

Clarke slapped her lightly in the leg, and Lexa shot her a look so filled with lust, Clarke almost led her out of the ballroom that very moment. She cleared her throat.

“Lexa,” she warned, her voice a rasp.

“Yes, all right,” the brunette muttered, standing to find another distraction. She smoothed down her shirtfront smartly, bowing to the Duchess, “Though you will expect me tonight. If I have to use a pillow or otherwise to quiet you,”

Clarke almost choked on her olive.

Lexa merely winked and strode away, an English courtesan instantly finding her alone. Clarke tittered in amazement.

That night, Lexa made good on her promise.

* * *

 

The French very seriously worried Clarke, and Lexa by extension. The blonde spent nearly all of her time at the castle, sending a rider with a message and a bag full of tarts or biscuits for the children every week or so. Every time Lexa saw a foreign rider coming down the lane, her heart sank.

Still, she carried on, doing everything she could to support the massive amounts of stress her _houmon_ carried. She was burdened with a country. Lexa knew this even the first time they met. Lexa had chosen this, and she would not regret a moment.

Her Duchess studied contingency plans, French tactics, philosophy, and war games. She held meetings and appeals for treaties. But every country was seeing, just as she was, that the French were conquering Sicily, and another Crusade was inevitable. Mad King Louis.

Lexa held no real love for this country. She was Trigedan. But she loved the Duchess of Arkadia, for better or worse.

* * *

 

It was late autumn when Clarke’s life ended. Or the life that she knew; the life she loved. And the execution wasn’t even grand enough for a blade. Her instrument of demise came in the form of a letter, delivered by visiting members of the English court.

The fine wax seal was one of many she had ever received from her Uncle Marcus. But unlike the rest, this one disturbed the contents of her stomach. Raven and Octavia were rattled. Their Lady had never been so violently sick.

Octavia immediately had Clarke’s collapsed form brought to her rooms and sent for a doctor. Her second sending was a groomsman to fetch Lexa. It was only hours later that Clarke was on her feet and demanding a carriage take her to Polisia, bidding her English guests stay. Even when Lexa welcomed her return nervously the next day, Clarke could not stop shaking.

Lexa, her love, Lexa, was wonderfully patient. She allowed Clarke all the time she needed to gather herself, entertaining guests as Lord Welf. And to think, Clarke had once badgered her love for a full day about something bothering the woman.

But the blonde could do nothing but prepare herself. She spent days and hours crying; mourning. Though she knew she could not avoid it. Three days later, she quietly asked Lexa to return to their rooms. The brunette stilled with dread at Clarke’s broken invitation.

Once inside, Clarke pulled a deep breath, her heart bleeding. She had imagined this so many times. It had always haunted her mind, and she knew, had haunted Lexa too.

“Lexa,” she hoarsed out, and she watched as Lexa seemed to grow frantic to retain her stoicism.

“I-“ Clarke gasped, “I’m sorry. I tried everything I could to fight it. But I’ve been forced into this,”

“Clarke,” Lexa started in that endearing way of saying the woman’s name when she wanted to be taken seriously, “I do not understand,”

Clarke swallowed, twining her hands together in dread. Already, she felt ill at the desperate look in Lexa’s holly green eyes.

 _Do not say it._ They seemed to scream. _Do not do this to me._

“King Marcus has accepted Lord Finn’s hand on my behalf. We’ll wed in two years’ time,” she whispered, her eyes searching the frozen face of her lover, “I have no other choice, Lexa. Arkadia needs an Army. King Louis won’t stop at Sicily,”

The room that had once sang with peace and love had turned deathly cold. Clarke could feel ice crawl through the walls and sink into her skin, though her throat was suddenly rasping and hot.

Lexa was shaking her head, brows drawn together.

“No,” she said, snapping her head up to glare at the woman, rage in her eyes.

“Lex-“

“No!” she thundered, “You cannot do this, Clarke. I will not allow it!” her entire body had gone rigid, and Clarke didn’t bother in fighting her, only swallowing the pity and self-loathing in her chest.

“It’s already done,” she whispered, “King Marcus demanded it,”

Lexa seemed to collapse in completely on herself, the change so quick it alarmed the blonde, “Clarke,” came the broken words, the emerald green eyes swimming, “ _Ai houmon._ No,” she pleaded, “You cannot,”

“Lexa, it’s the only way,” Clarke tried to reason, “Arkadia has never had an Army, only a Navy. It would take 5 years at best to raise any force that had half a chance of suppressing the French,”

Every word seemed a stab to the woman. Wounds that Clarke was inflicting.

Lexa fell to her knee, taking Clarke’s twisting fingers in her own. The blonde choked on a breath at the beautiful woman breaking apart in her hands.

“We will run away?” Lexa pleaded. Clarke nearly wailed.

“Arkadia would go to my cousin John. He would see its ruin,”

“Clarke,” Lexa’s accent had thickened and her syllables broke in odd, painful places, “I have given you everything I am. I have been yours for seven faithful years. I am your most devoted and understanding supporter. I have watched you leave and wondered at your return for seven blessed years, _ai hodnes, ai keryon_. I have risked a guillotine and stoning for you. Anything you want, it is yours. That will always be the way. And not once have I asked anything in return, have I?”

Clarke felt her eyes wet, the images of Lexa dancing in her memory. Her throat flexed and burned as she listened to her life’s deepest love plead her.

“No,” she answered still, “You’ve never asked anything of me,”

Lexa nodded, her eyes begging as her ever-gentle hands cradled Clarke’s.

“I have not, because I loved you more than my own selfishness. I loved you enough to never make you choose between your heart and your duty. But Clarke-“ she let out a whimper, “Clarke, I am asking, I am begging, for this one thing. This one time, beloved, choose me,” tears spilled down her cheeks, but the woman didn’t move, “Love me more than your people. Love me more than Arkadia. For God’s sake, Clarke, _love me as I love you_.”

Lexa was gasping, her voice choking every few seconds, and she pressed the fair knuckles to her forehead as she addressed the floor.

“Please, Clarke. I swear it, I will never ask another thing from you again, not even to pass a bowl. Please, my heart, I ask you for this one decision of mercy. Choose to love me this way, Clarke, for I know I will not survive a life where you belong to another,”

Air.

Lexa breathed hard, gathering her courage to look up and meet the blue eyes that had once sparkled for her like the morning sea.

She looked.

And wept.

* * *

 

 

It was announced that Lord Alexander had received an emergency summons back to Cruzcovia in the early afternoon and therefore was unable to bid a customary farewell. The Duchess had entertained the announcement with proper disappointment and regal concern. Her English guests followed suite.

But her handmaiden stood in the wings with her chambermaid and they shot each other broken looks.

The young woman – Lexa, not Alexander – had appeared before Raven as she had risen to begin her day, well before the sun, and had quietly asked her to give a letter to her Lady.

Stunned, the maid had nodded, observing the dark shadows under the woman’s eyes, as well as the traveling clothes. Lexa gave a sort of grimace and dipped her head cordially, turning to leave.

Octavia had bumped into her lover on the way out of their quarters not a moment later and saw Raven standing alone, the weight of an entire world in her hand.

Looking lost, the woman offered the slip to the other, her illiterate eyes full of fear. Octavia glanced at the note, and her throat had caught as she stuttered through the delicate scrawl.

Claiming she was tired, the Duchess bid her lunch mates a pleasant afternoon and retired to her rooms. Leaning against the door, she slowly sank to the floor, retrieving the already tired paper from her dress folds. The small, perfect script seemed agonized over, and Clarke’s heart echoed the feeling.

 

_My Lady,_

_I would ask you no longer call upon me. With mercy, understand why._

_Please know, every day you allowed me by your side was the best of my life._

_I wish you every happiness._

_Yours,_

_Lexa_

 

Clarke closed her eyes and recalled the night before. Sleepless, most obviously, but before even dawn, Octavia had knocked on her door. Clarke opened it to see Raven beside her, Lexa’s last words between them.

She had breathed pure grief through her teeth. Her flooded eyes met Raven’s.

“Is she-“ she swallowed, “Did she…”

Raven looked to the floor.

“Gone,” she said quietly.

Clarke nodded, somehow too aware of the spacious emptiness in the castle. She looked to Octavia and Raven, the pair worried and sad for their duty-bound sovereign.

“Thank you,”

And she softly shut the door.

Every line burned behind her eyes. Every letter so heavy in her heart. Every word a reach into the very depth of her soul, and she tried to control the sickness creeping through her stomach.

 _My Lady_ , Lexa had addressed, a clear pointer to the station Clarke had chosen. She had chosen Arkadia, and Lexa had paid homage to the title she would bear like a stain. And still, she had begged for mercy. Mercy: the grant of supreme grace over the dying. Clarke choked.

Her eyes burned as the sobs crawled their way through her throat. She felt like a widow. Like a piece of her soul had severed and been left to die. But still, the beat of her heart had signed, _Yours_.

Clarke could only clutch at the last piece of Lexa, this mangy, delicate, precious piece. The last imprint of the woman’s presence. Lexa had signed her devotion, but Clarke had already given her soul to the woman as she left.

Now, the blonde was nothing more than a cover to a blank-paged book. She was lifeless as a doll, and staring into the space Lexa and she had shared for seven years, Clarke felt the light leave her eyes.

Lexa had been her sun and stars, and Clarke had chosen the bleak night.

* * *

 

World reports reached Clarke daily. Sometimes she listened to her stewards and advisors, sometimes not. Her time was taken up by issues of England, those of Sicily, and of course, the French. But every so often, she would elect to hear of the uprisings in Cruzcovia. They had famously been at some battle or another for centuries now, the powerful dictatorship on the throne leaving the rest of the continent with bad tastes in their mouths. Cruzcovia was rich indeed, but business was much too bloody. Trade relations had eventually died.

Only within the past year, had the tide turned.

The news reached the Arkadian Duchess as a tickle of gossip at a ball.

“Your Grace, any news of Count Alexander?”

Clarke’s perfected mask of royal disappointment descended as her lady in waiting’s eyes glossed in pain. It had been half a year, but Clarke – Octavia’s sunny, compassionate sovereign – hadn’t laughed with real mirth since the day.

But before Clarke could respond, a rather obnoxious lady of the English court interrupted her.

“Did you not hear? Why, the reason Lord Alexander left was to fight with Trigeda in the Revolution!”

“Revolution?”

“Yes! They’ve started a whole war, you know!”

“Oh Lady Georgia, the entire country has been at war for a century!”

The women had dissolved into a laughing fit, and Clarke smiled tightly. Her head swiveled to catch Octavia’s eye, and the woman dipped her head. The next day, riders came to deliver what became twice-daily updates.

It was only today, nearly a year after Lexa’s departure, that Clarke felt something in her heart give way.

“Your Grace,” Raven kneeled, and Clarke waved a hand for her to rise. She smiled gently and frowned.

“Raven, what is it? You know I don’t permit any sort of respect at breakfast,” she attempted a tease. Raven gave a grimacing sort of smile, before dipping her head in acquiescence.

“It’s just,” Raven swallowed, holding out the letter she carried, “This missive is from the vineyard,”

Clarke felt the strange urge to burst into tears. Instead, her throat closed and her voice caught.

“Thank you,” she strained.

 

 

_Clarke,_

_Lexa sent word that Elle should inherit her estate should she die in the Cruzcovian Revolution. She is serving as a general for Anya the Usurper._

_The children do not come._

Something in Clarke clicked. Something about the first and last sentences. Something about the messy, unpracticed scrawl entirely in Trigedasleng.

Indra.

She stood abruptly, sweeping from the hall and snapping at the attendants who flocked to her.

“Saddle Clara. No carriage, no guards. Pack nothing but a purse of 3,000 aug. Inform my advisors I will be away indefinitely. Send missives to any who enquire that I am not to be sought after. Send a rider – Jacquelyn – every week so I can maintain communication,”

The men and women to see to her wishes departed immediately, and it was like spring had come again in the castle. They loved their sovereign, and had been devoted to the Mistress who had made her so happy. When their Duchess had stopped smiling, kind as she remained, it seemed like the lamps had been half-lit.

Now, they bustled about like never before, a nervous sort of buzz to the air. Old muscles, it seemed, were stretched as the staff hoped to see their Lady love again.

“Your Grace,” a servant’s son cut in, “Are you going somewhere?”

Clarke paused, considering.

“I’m going home,”

The boy received a crack on the head as soon as the beautiful woman swept away once more, but he would remember for the rest of his life the faraway look his Lady had given him, a flicker of a remembered responsibility in her eyes.

And so it came to be that Clarke thundered down a lane that had once filled her with joy and light. Now, only a tapered sense of dread, and cold regret in her breast.

The cottage looked the same.

The shingled roofing. The stone path. The painted blue door Clarke had begged for. The stables were just the same, though they were now empty. Clarke soothed Clara to a halt and led her to the stable door. The blonde surprised herself as she pulled the heavy oak. Her hands were so soft to the wood. They had forgotten.

Forgotten.

Just as the inside of the cottage was. Dust covered most everything, and Clarke had to hold herself at the sight of the once-loved novels lining the shelves. Pots and pans, unfinished clothes and dirt-clouded glasswares that Lexa had always compared to water, frozen but not. A bare corner where their furs had been, soot in the fire, rabbit tracks through the floor.

Clarke didn’t let herself cry.

She didn’t deserve it.

First, she collected the dishware, glass, and clothing. She rinsed them all in the river and left them to dry in the summer sun. Then, she dusted as best she could and swept. She chopped firewood until she blistered, fed Clara and brushed her, flexed any muscle she could think of.

At the fall of night, she slept out of pure necessity, rising before the sun to set traps. Three days, she worked. Three days, she wore herself to the bone, caring for the last part of Lexa. After three days, Indra came to her.

The woman was just as Clarke remembered, a little more tired, a little darker, but just as strong and sharp. The woman’s eyes roamed over the worn ribbon in Clarke’s hair, the rough-hewn dress she wore, the tattoos on her collarbones.

“I’m going to town tomorrow,” Clarke said softly, Indra never having spoken as she invited her in and to tea. She played with her own burnt, wasting hands, “I need to find the children,”

“To kill them, too?” Indra asked savagely, calmly.

Clarke felt a shiver roll down her spine as her eyes misted. Red-rimmed, she looked to the dark-skinned woman.

“I love her. I will never stop,” the rasp of her own voice was foreign to her in this house, “I might have killed the one I love, and for that, I should die,”

Indra dipped her head.

“I should die, but I do not,” Clarke whispered, “And so all I can do now is love her still. I didn’t bear her any children to love, and so I will love who I can for her. I loved them as she did. I was selfish,”

Indra simply watched her, and Clarke felt raw, broken open and bleeding yolk onto the floor. After many breaths and heartbeats, Indra drew in a heavy sigh.

“Lexa lives, for now,” she said staunchly, casting Clarke a cursory glance, “The children live too, for now. They sleep at the orphanage in Toncidi, the next village East. You will take them in,”

Clarke nodded.

“The vineyard runs well, though not as well,” Indra shrugged, “We expected it,”

Clarke nodded again. Indra jerked her head in half of a challenge.

“Lexa was my loved one too, along with the children,” Clarke felt her cheeks burn in shame until Indra continued, “As are you, young one,”

The blonde eyes whipped up to the dark, hard, eyes.

“Do well to meet again. This world is too short to be lonely,”

Clarke bit her lip and nodded. She stood, and Indra copied her movements. The younger woman went to a bag she brought with her and set it on the table. The clinking inside was unmistakable, but Indra only looked at her blankly.

“I wish to return this place to what Lexa and her father made it,” Clarke said simply, “And I want to improve it. May I call upon you and Gustus to help?”

The woman was still, until she dipped her head.

“See to the children,”

And then she was gone.

It took a week for Clarke to bring the children back to the vineyard, simply because she had to fix the wagon first. Elle, Gwen, Lyle, Sampson, and Teresa. The young ones, though Sampson had grown considerably, nearly a full-grown boy now, had forgiven her immediately. Teresa, Sampson, and Lyle sprinting through the vineyard for footraces soon as the wagon stopped rolling. Gwen was quiet, and Clarke embraced her with soft words of sorry. After asking her to start tending the garden and wiping the 15-year-old girl’s tears, Clarke turned to Elle.

Elle was a young woman now. Still somewhat of a girl not far from marrying age, and just discovering the beauty of herself. Her flaming hair had darkened into a smooth auburn, and her freckles had disappeared.

“I’m 17, in case you’re wondering,” Elle said quietly. Clarke sighed. That was how old she was when she met Lexa. 9, nearly ten, years ago.

“I know,”

“I don’t want to be back if you’re going to leave us again. Without Lexa, we barely have reason to stay,”

Clarke nodded, expecting this. Elle was a survivor. For herself, and for her family.

“I’ll pay you each wages fair,” she nodded toward the stable, “And we’re going to turn those into rooms for you each. It won’t be glamorous, but it’ll be permanent. And yours, if you’d like,”

Elle watched her.

“Permanent?”

Clarke adjusted, “Forever. Always. All the time,” she attempted a smile, “Home,”

Elle swallowed delicately, and she looked to the ground. When she looked up, her eyes were red-rimmed and glossed. She glared at the blonde.

“I’m not calling you Duchess. Or Lady. Or Mom,”

Clarke nodded, a hand going to her hip.

“How about this? From now on, I will be your _Fos_?”

Elle tipped her head, eyes narrow, “What’s it mean?”

“First. I will be your guardian. Your protection. Anything that happens to you, will have to come through me first,”

Clarke breathed and held an arm open. Elle nearly knocked her over in her embrace. The girl sniffled into her shoulder, and Clarke inhaled the girl’s wild dirt scent.

“Oh, my dear heart,” Clarke soothed deeply.

“ _Fos_ ,” Elle murmured, “We’re home,”

Clarke closed her eyes, her heart finally healing. It was time she realized how much effort it took.

* * *

 

Summer continued with strain and smiles as the children and Clarke worked side by side. She took more time to guide Elle in how the vineyard ran, as Indra and Gustus were nearly at an age to retire.

Clarke spent scheduled weeks to return to the castle, never more than 7 days at a time each month. Quickly, she found a balance, and as was her wont – plotted to improve it.

At the turn of autumn, almost the time for harvest, Clarke left for the capital of Polisia, and her Uncle. King Marcus welcomed her with open arms and all the affection in the world.

After dining together and a multitude of festive banter and lighthearted music and talk, the elderly man fixed her with his gentle gaze.

“Now, my favorite niece, tell me. Why have you come?”

Clarke smiled, not at all ashamed.

“Your Grace,” the man waved a hand, and Clarke was grateful that though they’ve moved moods, they remained family, “Uncle Marcus. This marriage you’ve arranged,” she paused, her hands twisting her napkin under the table, “I cannot go through with it,”

The man seemed to sigh.

“Clarke,” he steepled his fingers, “You know as well as I that this is only politics. King Louis will not see reason, and King George wants political reassurance that his Army’s investment will be honored in the future. This is why we marry,”

Clarke nodded, “I understand, Uncle. But there is another way,”

The King dipped his head.

“I’m sure, Clarke. But this is the way that is available to us now,”

“Uncle, you misunderstand. I’m not saying that a marriage is the wrong way to acquire the Army we need. I’m saying acquiring it from King George is. And besides, Lord Finn doesn’t have the spine to lead it,”

The King tipped his head.

“Go on,”

Clarke nodded.

“The English, though Lord knows diplomacy is their true King, have as good an Infantry as _we_ do, Uncle. They have the men, but not the tactics. Everyone saw what happened when the Vikings came to their doors, did we not?”

King Marcus seemed to gain a twitch about the lips.

“Tis true enough. But Clarke, beggars cannot be choosers,”

The blonde felt her heart lift at the entertainment of her plan.

“Uncle, I’d like to make my claim that we are not beggars at all. For an Army, maybe. But Arkadia alone is wealthier than most countries, and Polisia certainly so. With a marriage offer _and_ a financial backing of some sort, we could have our choice of the continent’s armies,”

King Marcus looked impressed.

“I admit I am surprised at these ideas, niece. And I would wager you have a further thought out plan for which Army you’d like to choose?”

Clarke nodded, her blue eyes wild.

“I do, Uncle. Of a sort,”

The old man chuckled, “Oh? Of a sort?”

Clarke bit her lip.

“Cruzcovia,”

The King finally frowned, “The Barbarian Imperialists? What makes you say that?”

Clarke refused to slow down now.

“Uncle, they’re a war-like people, yes. But they are not barbarians. They are currently at the end of a year-long revolution. The one to end their nation’s civil wars forever. Their usurper is running out of money, though. All the reports say so. She has the political backing, the armies, the people’s hearts, but she needs money. I believe that if we gave it to her, along with a marriage, we could request her armies to fight for us. We help them when they need it, and they help us when we do,”

She breathed.

King Marcus watched her closely from behind his hands. Though old, the King has ruled the country for many, many years peacefully. And Clarke had always been his favorite niece.

“Clarke,” he began, leaning forward in his chair, “Before I rule on his matter, I must ask you something. And I must have an honest answer. I must,”

Clarke nodded, his seriousness gripping her tightly. His heavy brow matched the low pull at his bearded lips as he spoke.

“Does this have anything to do with the rumors of you and a Cruzcovian lover?”

The blonde felt like she had been punched in the heart. Still, she swallowed.

“This is for my people,” she replied honestly.

The King studied her for a long moment before nodding to himself.

“Very well,” he decreed, “You have my permission to send an envoy to Cruzcovia. I will arrange the dissolution of your engagement. Any and all war expenses will come from the Polisian treasury, with the exception of anything you personally request,”

He sat back in his seat.

“Other than that, I leave this matter entirely to you. After all, I have just decided to name you my successor,”

Clarke’s eyes turned round as disks.

“Uncle-,”

The man raised a hand, “One thing at a time. Go, carry out your plans as best you can. Let me know of any trouble you encounter,”

Clarke rose numbly and bowed, exiting the dining hall. A smile spread over her face, and she resisted the urge to run back to her borrowed quarters in joy. She chose wrong once before. It was time to fight to fix it.

* * *

 

“ _Fos_ , I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” the young woman knotted her cropped hair in a hand as she stared in frustration at the garden in front of her. Clarke hummed, eying the decapitated and gnawed on heads of carrots.

Elle fumed, her recent 18th summerday doing nothing to tame her temper. She had celebrated by asking Clarke to shear her long, auburn hair to just past her jawline. As well as bashfully inquiring how she might ask Gwen to kiss her. Clarke had nearly shouted her protestations that they were too young. Herself, she had begged Lexa to take her maidenhood not two days after her own 18th.

And so with a small smile, she recommended Elle simply ask. A week later, the girl had nearly walked into the old stable’s porch pole with a smile on her face. Clarke had shot a knowing wink at Gwen, who then burned redder than Elle’s hair.

Clarke considered the problem at hand. She bent to retrieve one of the carrots. Upon closer inspection, she started laughing heartily. Elle frowned and looked as well, confused.

Clarke tossed her the vegetable.

“Dear heart, I find that in most situations, it’s much wiser to immediately suspect your lover,”

The blonde walked away right as Elle caught on. Not a rabbit. She went to the new stables and finished saddling Clara. Just as she led the beautiful mare out, the children all gathered to see her off.

“Elle, you’re in charge of the barn while I’m away,” Clarke reiterated for what seemed the hundredth time, “Gwen, you’re in charge of Elle. Lyle, Sampson, you both divide the fields. Teresa, garden,”

Elle’s fingers wove around Gwen’s, and Clarke felt herself smile.

“When can we expect you, _Fos_?”

“I can’t say for sure, Dear Heart,” Clarke said gently, “Cruzcovia is very, very far away. But I will be back. I promise,”

Elle steeled herself and nodded, while Teresa’s bottom lip jutted.

“Will you have Lexa?”

Clarke sighed, “I don’t know,”

The children all gave her a parting hug goodbye, and she couldn’t help but hug Gwen and Elle just a moment longer.

“ _Ai hod yu in,_ ” she whispered. They nodded against her, and Clarke gave them a final squeeze before mounting Clara. She arrived to the castle long enough for Octavia to protest her joining the envoy one final time, kissing her on the cheek, and waving goodbye to Raven.

Clarke had never favored boats, but every time she thought about why she was sailing the Baltic Sea, her heart beat steadily. Over two weeks aboard, she had nothing to do but re-read the missives sent between her advisor and the aide to the Usurper. The tone was surprisingly warm, by Cruzcovian standards.

Late summer in Cruzcovia was an Arkadian winter’s night. Clarke knew it would be cold, but for God’s sake, this was a frozen, beautiful land. And beautiful it was, for as soon as she and her envoy landed ashore, several warm cabs pulled by enormous black beasts for horses met her.

The escort welcomed her in stilted Arkadian, and Clarke smiled as she responded with civility. He bid her rest through the evening and night, as they would be upon the Revolution’s capital camp by early afternoon. She directed her advisors and guards to the other cabs, and settled in for the ride.

True to his word, Clarke and her company set foot onto well-trod snow in the afternoon. She had freshened in the cab and elected not to wear any sort of noble signifier. This was not a show of power.

Walking through the enormous camp, Clarke could hardly believe she were here. But more interesting was the here. Furs, pelts, fires and enormous weapons littered every surface of civilization. Those, and the cold, were really the only odd things. Other than those, it almost reminded Clarke of the market in Arkadia. Women, children, wares, and works. These were a fine people.

She entered the center-most tent, not at all extravagant, but the largest by far. Fur lined every wall and floor, with marvelous dark wood tables. Her party immediately went to comment on the lack of chairs, but she interrupted by shaking her head.

Only moments passed before the Cruzcovians entered in formation. First, and most impressive, was who Clarke assumed to be Anya. A slim, stiletto woman of intense focus and cutting grace, adorned in fur and a telling red sash. The rest of her party were similarly sculpted, and equally focused.

Clarke was flattered, as they all wore ceremonial war paint.

Anya’s voice was a jagged sort of smooth. It oozed honesty, though, and Clarke straightened as the woman spoke.

“Your Grace,” Anya nodded her head tightly, “I am Anya. Welcome to Cruzcovia. My wish is for you to soon see it in glory,”

The blonde gave a small curtsy. Anya had taken her eyes off of her when she had nodded, and Clarke knew it was a great sign of trust. She returned the gesture, and watched Anya’s companions tick their heads at her.

“ _Ai laik Klarke Griffith, Dukhefa kom Arkadia, en aftaim in Haihefa kom Polisia. Mochof hashta yu monin, Onya,_ ”

Anya seemed to reel as her company gave excited titters to each other, clicking and grunting too quickly for Clarke to catch. The Usurper eyed the Duchess with interest.

“It seems we have much to discuss, Clarke Griffith, Duchess of Arkadia and future Queen of Polisia. Provided your country is not soon King Louis’,”

Clarke, for some reason, felt her lips quirk at Anya. The woman didn’t smile, but her eyes glittered.

“It seems we do, Anya the Usurper, future Empress of Cruzcovia,” the blonde smirked at Anya. It was an educated guess, the country being too large, too separate, to make anything but an Empire out of, designating Kingdoms as her generals must have previously bargained Kingships for.

Anya nodded shallowly.

“Let us speak over food,”

Clarke knew this would go well. Cruzcovian customs of sharing meals was highly coveted. A period of vulnerability as most relaxed from fighting. And it did. Anya was a reasonable woman. She tensed and relaxed in all the correct places, questioned with gravity, and responded to Clarke’s own queries with equal weight.

“My final question, Klarke,” Anya gruffed, icy eyes lit by the fire, “You would agree to a _fyucha_?” she grunted, “ _Goufa_?”

Clarke tried not to look surprised, instead furrowing her brow, considering, “I will need a successor to my throne, though it doesn’t have to be an heir. I would have to know why,”

Anya nodded, “Fair. It is blood. Cruzcovia, and her Kingdoms to be, all are united in blood spilled. It is our way. No blood, no bond. My people, they need blood to fight,”

Clarke felt her heart quake in her breast.

“I see. Instead of spilled blood, joined blood. Yes,” Clarke settled, “I agree to an heir,”

Anya nodded, seemingly satisfied with Clarke’s summary. The woman looked to the blonde. She then shifted uncomfortably, and Clarke nearly raised an eyebrow.

“Then, we go to your,” she grit her teeth miserably, “sire. _Gifa_. Er- bond. I am, capable,” Anya nearly choked out, “Though I would not bond you, and that is a great insult,”

Clarke wanted to bite her lip to keep from laughing at this proud Empress to be. Lexa’s modesty made so much sense. In fact, from this, Lexa had transitioned to a near deviant. But Anya continued.

“Ideally, you would choose a general of mine, if you wish. Most all will become Kings and Queens of their territories. Though, for my people, I have in mind someone,”

Clarke felt her heart hammer in her chest.

“Someone?”

Anya nodded sharply, her sexual embarrassment passed.

“ _Ai secon,_ ”

“Your second?”

“ _Sha._ The Commander,”

Clarke frowned. None of her reports mentioned a Commander. Usurper, Generals, noteworthy warriors, but not a commander. Anya watched her carefully.

“Very well,” Clarke nodded eventually, “I should like to meet him,”

Anya simply nodded her agreement.

That night, she was shown to a tent to call hers, and she suspected Anya of instilling the fear of God’s wrath into those in charge of it. Her furs were pristine, and cherry-red coals warmed the air. As she lay awake, Clarke thought.

Of Anya. Of the children. Elle and Gwen. This commander. An heir.

Mostly, she thought of Lexa.

Somehow, she had to ask Anya about her. Even if she risked upsetting the woman. She had to see her. Had to put her plan into action. Anya said she wanted her to marry a general. If Lexa still lived… Idly, she traced the barely raised flesh on her collarbones.

She eventually slept.

Come morning, she readied and dressed on her own, and stepped out into the barely awake camp. She strolled, hoping beyond hope she could catch a glimpse of Lexa. What if she wasn’t even at this camp?

Clarke sighed and finally turned back to the central tent of last night. She met some Cruzcovians who had no idea who she was, and made small talk. When Anya arrived, she snapped something in a dialect Clarke didn’t recognize, and the two scampered off.

“Sorry,” the woman grunted, “Azgedans,”

Whatever this meant, Clarke could only guess.

They shared another meal together, and had a deeper in-depth conversation about the more immediate actions. Reports needed to be made and filed, translated from inquiries and estimated. Scouts and spies consulted on progress to get accurate figures. Anya was a brilliant strategic thinker, while balancing each consideration in her peripherals. She would rule well.

When the time came for another meal, Anya led her on a tour of their encampment, then a tour of her country on a map. It was immensely vast. By the start of evening, a messenger arrived to tell Anya of the Commander’s arrival. She bid him return to the Commander with a summons. Clarke breathed deeply.

An excruciating time passed, where Anya watched her with an unreadable expression. Soon, voices outside the tent sounded, and Clarke’s heart beat in her throat. A man stepped through the tent flap, and bowed.

“ _Onya_ ,” and he led off a trail of spilled words Clarke didn’t bother to catch, relief at this not being the Commander. Still, Anya swore and grunted. She turned to Clarke.

“I must go. The Commander must be informed of our discussions. We have already spoken of preliminary plans, so fill details,” she harshed, “I will return tomorrow,” with that, she was gone.

Alone, now, Clarke nearly panicked.

Especially when the tent shuffled gently, the flap moving once more. And through it, stepped a figure that Clarke nightly watched step out of her dreams.

“Lexa,” she breathed.

The tall woman stilled, and suddenly Clarke was 17 once again, having freshly burned a grove of grape vines under that heavy green stare. Except now, Clarke was 27, and it felt like she herself was burning.

“ _Klarke_ ,”

The blonde swallowed. Lexa’s accent was thicker. She looked broader, but somehow gaunt. There was so much she wanted to say. But where did one start? It had been two years, a fraction of their time together, but so much had happened.

“Lexa _,_ ”

Lexa seemed to rouse herself and dropped the tent flap. She crossed to the blonde in movements so fluid that Clarke wanted to cry, and stopped just short of brushing the Duchess’ chest with her armor.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasped, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, “You are here. You are real?”

The blonde felt the music return to her ears.

“I’m here,” Clarke choked, her eyes tracking over the woman’s astonished features. She was still so beautiful, “I’m here and I’m not leaving without you,”

Lexa’s chest inflated, and the burning, deep green that swam through Clarke’s heart screamed of all of the words they needed to say, but couldn’t.

“You are not,” Lexa’s throat flexed, her eyes darting over Clarke’s whole being, “married?”

The guard had started to slide back into Lexa’s eyes, held away only by the terrified shine of hope. Clarke swallowed and lifted her hands to lay them anywhere Lexa would allow. She just – needed to touch her.

“I am,” Clarke said slowly, reaching further to catch Lexa’s jaw when the woman’s head made to snap backwards, “To you, Lexa. I have always been married to you,”

Not leaving the warm skin, Clarke took her free hand and went to her throat. She unclasped her dress and top buttons, pulling the side down. Lexa’s eyes went flat and hungry as she looked over the revealed skin. But absolute fire entered her eyes when she gazed once again at the marks tattooed into Clarke’s skin. Her mark.

“I’ve come to marry one of Anya’s generals to seal our alliance, Cruzcovia and Polisia’s. Indra told me you were one of them,”

Lexa’s brilliant mind seemed to catch on something, and the intense look on her face turned into one of mystified wonder.

“You are the noble woman,” Lexa’s voice slid just as her hands, and Clarke nearly groaned and fell her head forward at the warmth and strength she had missed so deeply that encircled her hips, “You are the one Anya has spoken of. You… planned this? Clarke? You planned to find me?”

Clarke couldn’t help but step closer and press her front to Lexa’s. She could feel the woman’s breath on her face, and her pulse drummed against her fingertips.

“I’ll not live without you, Lexa. I don’t want a country where you aren’t in it,”

Lexa studied her face, eyes conflicted. Clarke pressed on. She had traveled here for this moment, just this one. And it was time to make her amends.

“I should have fought for you then, Lexa. And I’ll never forgive myself for taking so long to do so,” Clarke’s hands slid to brush the soft hair at Lexa’s neck, but the woman only watched her, “But you’re here, and you’re alive, and I couldn’t bear it if you turned me away, though you’d have every right to. I just,” she breathed, “I needed you to know that I’ll always love you. That I do love you, and I never stopped. And that I meant every word I’ve ever spoken to you. I want a life with you, and children with you, and to die right here in your arms,” The Duchess breathed heavily, watching Lexa’s face.

After a moment, the blonde pulled air in as best she could and tried for anything to lift the press of hot worry in her breast.

“Did you… miss me too?” Clarke attempted a smile, her eyes betraying her. Lexa didn’t move. To the outsider, not a feature of the woman’s face moved, but Clarke has watched Lexa’s green eyes in every light and emotion imaginable, and she saw them dissolve.

“The very wind reminded me of your breath,” she whispered.

Clarke felt herself fight tears, and Lexa finally moved to lay soft, smooth caresses of her lips to the blonde’s. It was like color returned to her sight. Lexa, with her strength and grace, pressed against her filled her with the feeling she got while running through sun-lit fields on the vineyard.

Their kiss faded into a press of their faces and cheeks together, and Clarke couldn’t stop crying as Lexa eclipsed her in the embrace they shared. They clung to each other for dear life, and Clarke’s tears flowed faster as Lexa’s voice whispered in her ear.

“I love you, Clarke. I love you,”

* * *

 

From then on, it was a dream to the Duchess. Arrangements were made with the Usurper as smoothly as a river ran. In addition to the extravagant financial backing of Polisia, the Duchess of Arkadia became engaged to the Commander-General of Cruzcovia. In return, the victorious Cruzcovian Empire to be would defend Polisian borders from the French.

In the presence of her comrades, Lexa was congratulated with rough pats and grunted nods of approval. Cruzcovians were not outwardly affectionate to anyone, but they were notoriously uxorious. The Duchess simply held her head high, her accompanying party marked with sadness that their beloved Duchess would bear such sacrifice as to wed a barbarian.

For Clarke and Lexa, it was the stars themselves aligning. They stole kisses in the dead of night, not daring to tempt fate to be discovered. They separate for four months more. Four months where Clarke returned to King Marcus and the treasury called upon to ship. Four months where Clarke returned to the vineyard with joy in her eyes. Even Octavia and Raven were cheered by their sovereign’s mood.

It takes a mere four months to overthrow Cruzcovia.

Anya the Usurper is crowned the Tsar-Empress of Imperial Cruzcovia.

All it takes for King Louis to retreat is the announcement of the Duchess’ engagement to the warrior horde of the north, and the continent holds it’s breath to see if Arkadia would hold their end of the bargain still.

Clarke doesn’t even notice.

All the woman can see is Alexander. Raven arrived in Clarke’s study one evening winded and limping, her skirts in her hands, and glee in her eyes.

“Your Grace,” she pants, “Alexander has arrived from Trigeda with a party from the North,”

Clarke nearly gasps. And runs.

Through her grand halls, she pictures Lexa running with her, she runs.

She halts at the marvelous entrance that begins her household, and a flurry of hands adjust her hair, her gown, her crown. She breathes, and nods to Octavia in the wing. The woman grins, but turns to the guard at her side and whispers. At once, the large oak doors part and the Duchess’ guests are announced.

There is sunlight, and there is the blue of sky, and then there is Lexa, come home to her. Tall, broad, and graceful was a willow tree. With war paint decorating her face, Lexa held the leashes of two great hunting dogs as she swept into the hall, and Clarke’s heart stuttered.

“His Serene Highness, Prince Alexander of Trigeda, Commander-General of Cruzcovia,”

And Clarke couldn’t breathe, because Lexa was home. Lexa was home as her betrothed.

The tall woman bowed before her, and Clarke breathed through her returned curtsy.

“Your Grace,” Alexander’s husk sounded out.

“Your Highness,” Clarke responded lightly, “Please, I would beg your party members be shown your rooms by my staff. Tired guests are unhappy with any host,”

Lexa didn’t smile, but the listening rest of her party let out short chuffs. Instead, her green eyes bore into Clarke’s own, and Clarke swallowed before looking away.

“Octavia, Raven,” she called, “see to it that each guest gets their own room in the west wing,”

Lexa continues to watch her, and Clarke feels herself going mad.

“Place his highness in the east wing suite, if you please,”

Raven doesn’t give her away, and Clarke wants to kiss the woman’s cheek when she simply replies, “Of course, your Grace,” and ushers the Cruzcovians away, groomsmen following with their tack.

Lexa watched her Lady leave, and burns to follow. She takes a step, only to be stopped by a deliberate movement by Octavia to block her path. She feels like snarling before realizing the woman was looking at her with warning. A smile twitches the shorter maid’s lips, and Lexa’s features soften enough to look mildly annoyed.

“Patience, your Highness,” she murmurs, “Her Grace grows no older,”

Lexa scoffs.

* * *

 

Lexa is different, Clarke settles on, when they lie together that first time. But then again, she might be different, too. Though Clarke doubts she is as drastically changed as her _houmon_.

There is a violence to her.

A tempered storm.

When Lexa fucks her, it is with an edge. It is with an extra sharp thrust that Clarke knows was not there before. Her hands are gentle, everything Lexa does is gentle, but with the hard grind of buckled discipline. It dives Clarke wild.

Her cock slides inside her as perfectly as before, and it’s been so long, the blonde feels as if Lexa were taking her for the first time again. But it is not the first time, and neither are the blushing, anxious mess they had been then.

Now, they are full of over two years’ pained silences. Desires, emotions, hurt, anger, and love, all exploding into the frantic coupling that has Clarke’s hips driving into the silk sheets beneath her, nearing painful as Lexa thrusts without stopping.

Clarke is writhing and moaning, Lexa’s name bleeding from her lips just as sluggishly as the actual blood from Lexa’s back, Clarke’s nails cutting delicately into skin. Still, Lexa doesn’t slow. Doesn’t even pause.

They are sweating, and Clarke has already reached orgasm twice, but Lexa had merely growled like she was drinking in the moans and screams, and continued. Clarke couldn’t find words, but Lexa tried to anyway.

“Tell me who touched you while I was away,” her head lowered to bite at Clarke’s throat, and the blonde moaned.

“No one,” she replied on instinct to please.

“Tell me you touched no one,”

Clarke had to stop herself from screaming her affirmation for the things Lexa was doing to her. Instead, she tried to focus on Lexa’s panted words.

“No one,” she confirmed.

Lexa rushed out short, animalistic rumbles of approval as she thrust, her hips never failing. She held herself above Clarke, the woman’s legs hitched around her hips.

“Close,” she grunted in warning.

But Clarke heard it for what it was.

“Inside, Lex,” the blonde answered, her nails cutting even deeper in her lover’s back, “Please, inside me,”

Lexa groaned her name as she stiffened. She plunged her hips as deeply inside Clarke as she could. A quick thrust, and she let out short, aggravated moans as she let her seed fill Clarke’s womb.

“Clarke,” she gasped, her cock jumping as she emptied herself, “Clarke,”

The blonde gave a shiver as an echo of an orgasm rocked her, her hands running through the sweat-soaked roots of Lexa’s hair. Thoroughly spent, Lexa allowed herself to collapse on top of Clarke. She moved to pull out, but a single leg on her rear stopped her.

“Stay,” Clarke hummed in exhaustion, “They say it helps,”

Lexa’s heart tore and was built up again.

“You meant it? Truly?”

Clarke nodded, eyes closed as she scratched at her lover’s scalp, “I mean it. A child was all I thought of while you were away. Second only to you,”

Lexa breathed deeply, kissing at Clarke’s breasts lazily.

“Marry me,” she sighed, and Clarke looked down at her interestedly. Lexa nuzzled the skin of her throat before looking at Clarke intensely, “I mean that, too. I fought a war. I won a nation. Now, I will rule a piece of it. If you like, my army is yours. I am finally your equal, and I have always wanted to ask you. In Arkadian custom, in every way, marry me,”

Clarke watched her in silence.

“Lexa,” she swallowed, “I love you. I never stopped,”

Lexa paused, “Does that mean you accept, Clarke?”

Clarke laughed, her throat thickening.

“It means I will marry you, and live with you, and die with you, surrounded by our children, even if it meant all of Polisia were razed to the ground,”

Lexa smiled brilliantly, skimming Clarke’s nose gently.

“Surrounded by our children, hm?” she hummed, relaxing into the pliant woman underneath her.

Clarke laughed, “Just not _too_ surrounded. Please?”

Lexa chuckled deeply.

“I will have you know, I plan to have a large family,”

“Let’s see how you handle the first one. Then,” she kissed the strong shoulder, “We’ll talk,”

Lexa merely hummed again, vowing she wouldn’t sleep until she saw the sun in Clarke’s hair once more.

* * *

 

When they married, it was the largest event the continent had seen in a decade. Every country came to congratulate and celebrate. Both out of love for Polisia, and out of political relief at the overwhelming Cruzcovian army that the French have since balked at.

A month before, King Marcus officially declared the Duchess his successor, crowning her Princess of Polisia. Anya had given Lexa Kingship over Trigeda, and she requested it be in name of King Alexander. The Usurper had merely nodded and swept away.

To Clarke and Lexa, it was like a dream.

They married in a fashion that inspired paintings and music for hundreds of years after. And still, their wedding night was spent riding side by side down a winding country lane, loving looks thrown like stones into a lake.

“The children are most likely asleep,” Clarke whispered, watching Lexa’s face as her _houmon_ took in the vineyard she had gone without seeing for nearly three years. There was an entirely new building, solid and built sturdily next to the river.

But Lexa nodded and continued to the cottage. When Clarke had stabled the horses, she found her love staring around with love and tears in her eyes. Clarke simply smiled and guided her out of her clothes.

“Let us start a life here,” she whispered later, as she pressed her lips to Lexa’s, sinking down on Lexa’s cock.

“Clarke,”

“Let us have love, and children, and anything we can dream of,”

Lexa merely watched this woman on top of her, holding her hips, not knowing how to correctly phrase the sweep of gratitude that galed through her. Clarke seemed to sense it, and she moved to lie flat, her breasts pressing to Lexa’s, her cock seated deeply within her.

“Clarke,”

The blonde laid a kiss and waited.

“Clarke, I love you,” Lexa swallowed, “You are my life, and I will build us that world of our dreams. I will give us children to raise and love. As long as you are with me,”

Clarke smoothed the woman’s nose with her own lovingly, and gasped with delighted pleasure as Lexa ground upward, starting up a low, pulling sensation within her womb.

They sweated against each other gently, Lexa exerting forceful effort in a way that kept Clarke’s inside walls clenching like a vice around the hot prick. Their lips never far, Clarke whispered nothings of their future, and Lexa hummed, her nose in Clarke’s neck and collarbone.

They sometimes said absolutely nothing, and they sometimes spoke in guttural, disjointed words, Clarke orgasming in strange, unexpected moments. When Lexa finally spilled her seed, it was with a gruff, animalistic sort of whine, Clarke cooing and praising her.

They fell asleep with Lexa’s length still inside her blonde wife, and dreamt about the things that once they woke, were suddenly real.

* * *

 

Lexa couldn’t breathe.

The fire crackled in their shared quarters, and Clarke simply stood and watched Lexa, the woman’s hands still where they rested on her own hips. Her green eyes were focused on her wife’s. When she spoke, her accent was thick with emotion.

“Are you sure?”

Clarke nodded. Lexa didn’t look away from her waiting blue eyes. Her long legs stepped carefully to cross the distance between them, her heart beating loudly in the silence.

When she had drawn level to Clarke, the blonde watched in awe as the tall, proud woman folded to her knees in front of her like a house of cards. This woman who had sworn to be her knight, her rock. This woman who had conquered a nation. This woman, who now pressed her face to Clarke’s stomach and started whispering in rapid fire Trigedsaleng.

Clarke smiled, her eyes clouding at Lexa as the woman stood slowly, laying multitudes of kisses and sweeps of her lips to everywhere she could reach. At meeting Clarke’s eyes, the brunette embraced her wife as wholly as she could.

“Thank you, Clarke,” she choked out, her mind whirling, love radiating from every movement, “I love you, my Clarke. So much,”

Clarke laughed through her tightened throat.

“I love you too, Lex,” she pulled back to look at her life’s love and held her so familiar, so gentle, hands, “I want this so much with you. I’m scared, but you make me feel brave,” she kissed one of those hands, “We’ll do this together,”

Lexa smiled brilliantly as she spoke, and felt her tears of happiness spill over.

* * *

 

“Clare,” Lexa cooed, “Look here, darling,” she waved a noisemaker at her daughter as the blue-eyed child giggled and shoved a fist to her mouth. Clarke laughed, stepping into the cottage.

“Clarke,” Lexa frowned, “She does not answer. She answered yesterday,”

The blonde woman smiled and bounced their newest baby on her hip. Instead of answering, Clarke whispers conspiratorially to the babe, “I bet because Mother has been speaking Trigedasleng and confusing your sister again, right, Eva? Right?”

Lexa smiled, a small pull of her lips from her seat on the floor.

* * *

 

“Your Serene Highness, I- I must beg you,” the man was sweating in helpless frustration, “Please cease movement. I cannot capture Her Majesty’s features when she er- laughs so,”

Lexa pressed her lips together, sliding her eyes down to her wife as Clarke gave a guilty bite to her lip. She felt hot and itchy in her finest royal regalia, her wife sitting on a divan under the weight of her own treasured adornement.

“Perhaps, Herr Schubalt, a break is in order? May I recommend the vintage?” Clarke offered politely. The man gave a deep sigh and palmed his baldhead as he walked away from his easel.

Clarke turned to her wife with a deeply annoyed glare.

“It’s your fault!”

Lexa looked offended under her war paint.

“I do not see how it could be so,”

“Oh don’t even start with that!” Clarke scrunched her nose, “You’re deliberately tickling my neck!”

Lexa’s eyes gain a deep humor in the emerald, and Clarke rolls her own. Lexa kneels over the cushioned seat Clarke is perched on, and lowered her face to her wife’s.

“It seems I owe you an apology,”

Clarke considered the positioning. Her lips quirk, and she leans to grant the woman a kiss. Right before their lips connect, Clarke whispers out a teasing, “You know, it is customary to work for one’s debt around here,”

Lexa smiles.

* * *

 

_My mothers reigned for 40 years together. When Lexa died, it was within moments of Clarke, and all of my sisters breathed a sigh of relief at the fact._

_Though by now, we had all heard the stories of how the then-Duchess of Arkadia had mourned a war won, none of us could imagine a world where our mothers did not live together. Even in their final moments, they were within reach._

_The rule of Queen Clarke and King Alexander was the start of what we know as the Polaric Era – a Golden Age of economic wealth, trade development, social reformation, and political peace throughout the continent. Mom gifted Mother with seven children – my sisters. Clare, Eva, Petra, Beatrix who we call Bella, Rose, Bridget, and myself – Isabel. A fine lot of heiresses are we._

_When they passed, the Empire was broken into provinces, much like Mother’s home of Cruzcovia. Though what Mom renamed Polaria remained for legal and protective purposes, we decided to split into 4 nationals, one of my sisters taking each region for their own, though we elected Petra to reign as Sovereign Queen._

_We called it Monastic-Democracy, my sister Clare heading the first constitutional legalism the world had ever seen. Eva became the voice of the people, listening to Bella, Rose, Bridget and I as we took care of each of our nations._

_My three oldest sisters never married, though they kept lovers when they could. Myself, I married one of Anya’s daughters. I gave birth to three children, and Petra treats them as her own._

_I write these stories now to preserve for as long as possible, the memory of my beloved parents. My sisters and I grew to womanhood with love and gentleness bred into our hearts, and our nation grew to be the most prosperous in the world._

_All because the Lady loved the Laborer, and the Laborer loved her back._

* * *

 

**Guys, this one nearly killed me. Note to self: don't invent entire worlds and political systems while suffering from intense bouts of gay. I do hope you liked it.**

 

**With Love,**

**K**

**Author's Note:**

> katkonstant on tumblr. come talk to me (:


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